Call Yourself Forth

photography by Susa SilvermarieThe path of waking
attains nothing, uncovers
what is there, reveals
rudimentary goodness.
Dismantling cover-ups,
disarming weapons, it’s all
an inside job; step up!
Clear-eyed, open-hearted,
orient your daily life
to waking radiant
even while the world dissolves.
Seeing goodness
pierces human gloom
like a laser.
Call yourself! Call yourself forth
to perceive what is real.
From eons of compression,
lift the shining gem.
Recognize love
everywhere.photography by Susa Silvermarie

©Susa Silvermarie 2018

 

 

 

 

 

Unleash it Now

The turmoil of our times
dances round the globe—
stamping, frenzied!
Kali destroying,  Durga creating.
Let us cry and  whirl with them
in the storm that tosses tiny earth.
Let it turn us inside out
until protection disappears, until
we wear our hearts outside our shell.

Lightning flashes all around us,
but even as we shudder,
we shall be the rods that ground it.
As we mediate the thresholds
we return to earth ourselves.
Let us tether one another
while we shake and tremble,
while we become conductors.
transmitters of the Change.

Channeling the current now tempestuous
cannot be done without the body.
When we do not use our bodies
the vital dance is jammed into depression
or explodes into annihilation.
Unleash it now, the oldest form of worship.
Earth’s equilibrium demands
that we must dance the planet.
Bow and whirl, leap and dart!
Sway, gyrate, and quiver.

The turbulent upheaval
of these times that we were made for,
calls for us to meld the parts of self
until the fusion powers us like stars.
Thus we ride uncertainty and tumult.
Thus, we dance disorder into balance.

©Susa Silvermarie 2018

In Grandpa’s Garden

The first flower I remember was a daisy in Grandpa’s garden. After working as a miner in the mountains of northern Italy and as a soldier in the Italian army, he emigrated from Italy to Philadelphia and married my grandmother, also an immigrant from Italy. By the time I saw the daisy in his garden, he had worked as a sandhog in the subway tunnels of NYC, been a postmaster and run a grocery store in Buehl Minnesota, learned the cheese business in Chicago, raised a family, and moved to small town Wisconsin to take the business risk of starting his own l Italian cheese company. And by the time we nine kids sprang up like weeds in the new house next door, he was retired and letting my Dad take the reins.

Grandpa’s garden seemed huge. There were plum trees, the Italian kind that weren’t round and whose skin that wasn’t as shiny as the plums in the grocery store, but tasted like candy. He had a million strawberries all along the back of the garden by the fence, and lots of vegetables that I didn’t pay attention to at all.  And he grew flowers, flowers that seemed to rise up tall just so they could say Buon Giorno to Grandpa.

He would bend gently when he spoke to us kids. Once he offered the enormous sum of five dollars to whichever of us kids could find his missing glasses. Me! Me! I saw them first, pushed back on his head, sitting on the brim of his straw gardening hat. He laughed, the first time I heard an adult laugh at himself.

I called the flowers daisies. Maybe daisy was the only flower name I knew. They danced in the breeze on their narrow stems. Grandpa danced in another way, slow and strong and kindly, a quiet man who had smiles for children and flowers. I never knew the ambitious business man who had inhabited his past. Grandpa and his flowers nurtured one another, and my big round eyes watched the waltz of that mutual cultivation.

Some of the daisies had pink petals and some had purple petals. Sometimes the centers were rich golden brown like a sunflower center. Some had centers of greenish yellow. My favorites were so-called plain, the bright, white daisies with sunny, yellow centers. Happy flowers. Simple, nothing complicated like roses, safe-as-a-grandfather flowers. When I shyly went across the driveway to his garden to watch him poke and weed and hoe, the daisies waved at me. I always wanted to wave back but I never did. It was a peaceful place to go, to escape the cacophony of our house. I didn’t have to explain anything to Grandpa. I didn’t have to explain myself.

From one day to the next, the daisies opened so bravely, all the way. I wondered how they could magically turn their cups into plates. One day, I noticed that it had something to do with the time of day I looked at them. It was the sun that called the daisies open and then coaxed them to close. They were children of the sun, connected to something huge and far far away.

The daisies gave me this first sense of connection. And my grandpa was the one who gave me the daisies. His spirit, and theirs, still lives in a little pocket of my heart. It’s a place where the daisies dance and wave. Where now, I always wave back.                  ©Susa Silvermarie 2018

Ix Chel

The Full Pisces Moon on Sunday August 26 is a beautiful day to connect with and work with the energies of Ix Chel (pronounced Ee-shell) as a female aspect of Consciousness. Her name means Lady Rainbow, and she is the Maya Goddess of the moon, weaving, and water. She has many titles, such as Ix Kanleom, the “Spider’s Web Catching the Morning Dew”, and Ix Chebal Yax.

In her aspect as Chak Chel, the Old Moon Goddess, she is the Midwife of Creation who assists in birthing worlds and civilizations. In her aspect as a Mother Goddess, Ix Chel is known as the Weaver who sets the Universe in motion, her whirling drop-spindle at the very center of the Universe. And in her aspect as the Young Moon Goddess, Ix Chel holds close her totem animal of Rabbit for fertility and abundance.

Overall, Ix Chel is a great Water Goddess. Female pilgrims came by water annually to pray at her great shrine on the island of Cozumel and also her shrine on Isla Mujeres. (My photos are from her shrine on Isla Mujeres. ) Ix Chel is known to bring about the transmutation of old worlds by the pouring of sacred waters. In these Turning Times, she prepares the way for a new age, assisting us to fully enter the 5th Sun, time of One Thousand Years of Healing.

 

In the Temple of Ixchel

I have come with my sisters before
where aqua waters arc their constant carress
around the southern point of the island.
Now when the ruins are nearly disappeared,
I walk this path that curves above the cliffs,
but once before,
I prayed and sang in procession.
Once before we laughed to be so safe
in the Temple of Ix Chelab Yax.
Faint music from the past—
flute and voice, gull,
something sweetly strung—
all for Her, the Fecund Mother.
Here I greet my gone-before,
who nods in glad surprise
to me, her elder descendant.
I walk the sea wall singing
for Daughter IxChel, for Mama Tonantzin.
The rocks remain, and the rolling sea,
where I return to honor Her.
Ask, Ixchel demands. And so, again, I do.
Goddess of Conception, change my view
and let me trust in Love.
Goddess of Birth,
in the time of the fifth sun, may I give light,
and may I learn to receive it.
Goddess of all Nurture,
grant that I and the world be done with blaming.
May I with the earth, rise as your daughter,
free and whole in love.

©Susa Silvermarie 2013