It was in her ancestry,
the longing to tend and herd.
Being the daughter of a shepherd
she knew why Arcadia pulled her.
Knowing her family began there,
she longed to return to her spirit land,
to deep harmony and highlands,
a vision of unspoiled wilderness.
To restore a branch of her family tree
and move in peace upon its mountains.
Home may be where the heart is,
yet hiraeth was calling her soul home.
Here on the long nights of the year,
in the darkest hours of mid-winter,
I call upon those wise, loving ones,
those radiant, bright elevated souls
whose names are beyond my reach.
Those who are well in spirit, come
and shine your healing light of love
all the way down my ancestral line.
Far past the ruinous family shadow
of madness, violence and addiction,
towards my true ancestral blessings
of creativity, healing and devotion.
When she spoke,
I heard the eternal phoenix
rise from its fiery ashes.
And with no end in sight,
I knew only this,
right from the beginning
I could be hurt.
So I had to talk myself down
from the terror
that, if she ever left me,
I could write heart-breaking poetry
“The truth was a mirror in the hands of God. It fell, and broke into pieces. Everybody took a piece of it, and they looked at it and thought they had the truth.” ~ Rumi
As a poet I love Rumi,
I love the weight of his words,
of how the mirror breaks
and many different versions
of truth grow within the family.
Within ourselves too.
A liberated sheep in a post Shepherd world,
poetic landscape of the soul
is my version of truth.
From fifteen to fifty,
a life-changing metamorphosis
which I faithfully recorded.