Where is the adoration of Mother? Has she not bent to my every wish? Have I not scraped her flesh with my ravenous paws long enough? She writhes, yet breathes her full Love still. Let me bring her my full compassion that she might breathe still. Let me be in motion and give her cause to smile upon me…
I don’t know anything, because I’m not supposed to. The spirits within me, however, know more than I have the wits to imagine. My mouth is of use to the spirits, to the Mother, to the (H)eartH of Creation. I promised her I’d scribe! She said, if I’m going to use trees upon which to print ideas, thoughts, belief, then I’d better make it most loving. Otherwise, what’s the point?
© 2012 by the spirits dancing with mark richard prime
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