By Marcia Singer
I Am a ritual, an altar, a holy place.
I Am an outrageous, audacious act of GodIs-ness.
Hold me high, laugh, marvel: for
I Am divine creation, Love’s DeLight,
A beauty-full part of All That Is poetry in motion.
I shine delight in remembering that I Am,,
That each Is, we all Are
Stirring our remembering now.
Out of the valley of the shadows of death all around me,
Within the dark, deep slumber of forgetful ignorance
I awaken to glorious GodIsh-ness, again.
What a miracle I Am! Free to be me!
A prayer on the lips of GodIs,
A likeness of Her Image displayed in endless array,
The gentle pluck of eidelweiss in wintertime,
A crazed wild meadow of ecstatic color erupting under a spring sun.
I Am alive, renewed, filled, again.
How amazing, this happening!
Admist the din of the suffering cries of so many earthly brothers and sisters
Generations torn from their soulskins,
I Am in this moment, a still place, a reborn quietude,
In spite of historical, hysterical hardships,
Eternities of anguishing and languishing about,
I Am a new beginning,
Emptied of struggles between heaven and hell,
An angelic human vessel of light hearted nature,
Ancient, resilient and strong.
I do not arrive at Blessings gate without assist;
There but for the grace of guidance go I.
A ministry of brilliant Master Way-Shower-Trickster-Teacher Elders
Dedicated to my rescue, choreograph the path with divine Grace.
Guides who, Knowing that great aliveness is the gift inherent in great fear,
Plot to trap me into catching sight of Love’s Light
At the end of each struggle tunnel,
Dogging me until I shift the shape of lack luster tunnel vision
Into a pariscopic view of the Glory-us blessed virgin territory that I am.
Each time I forget to remember, these tireless, timeless traveler Guides
Trick me with mirrors of truth placed all along my way,
Mysteriously designed to reflect my playful Wholelyness,
And when even that remembering fades,
Wise ageless hands scheme to catch me
off guarded detail scrutiny over each thing wrong with life,
Deranged preoccupation with what’s missing,
Those shiftshapers stick out a foot
and send me tripping over the stones of hyper vigilantyism
Strewed along disparaging streams,
Off de feet, up into rare air,
Landing me like a cat graced with a tenth life
Lithely onto terra firma, solid ground,
Proving life’s journey to be Original Blessing in disguise.
And more: That I am myself an original blessing,
For my essential being issues forth from the Origin that is Her.
I am a ceremony, a celebration, a work of art.
I am Woman.
Hear me roar.