Fall season (and a pair of hands)

You Fall
Way down to the ground
You are scattered into pieces
Some large, cutting bits
Some small dust like particles
You stay there and you realize all the messy brokenness
Your heart pulses
You do not move
Yet, suddenly
Your diligent pair of hands goes on about
It starts to gather things up
Sweeping you and the floor where you lay scattered and broken
Your hands go on
As life hands
Ever when you are unable to

Like Baba Yaga’s hands
They will have two functions:
They will help your young innocent Vasalisa girl
As she sleeps
While she’s lost, motherless, alone
They will work the world out for her
Digging poppy seeds from dirt
Separating them into two clear piles
When she wakes up
It will be done
It will feel like a miracle
Life strength acts through us
It works its way through

 Second function of the pair of hands is to turn you
Into a wise wild Baba crone
To the very last bit
Of your very last stone bone
They will go about and get things done
But they will not overwork themselves
Because they simply know
Everyone has a pair of hands of their own
Working as perfectly as hers do

Back to the broken pieces
Of course
Some pieces will be lost in the sweeping
And fly off
To sky and star and distant landscapes
Every egg shell must break for a bird to grow

As your hands get you together into a living patchwork
Sewing the pieces, weaving the leaps of void into broidery
You are brocade woman
You are unique fabric of scar and tender waters
You are overflowing
Young and old and unknowable
Yet reliable, faithful, devotional

Honour the pair of hands
They do so much everyday
For you and all your relations
Make sure
That at the end of the day
Your hands come together with Heart
And pray
Not a prayer someone wrote
But the very prayer spirit whispered at your broken ear
As your hands were sweeping the dust off you
And making it all clear
The prayer that will not forget you
As long as you do not forget
That prayer has the power to mend brokenness
And restore Love
No matter how long, how slow it might be
It is being
Like your hands,
are continuously doing
so you are continuously getting done
Love is continuously repairing
Oneness is made of many
Many, many, many
All of those each of us is
Whether we know it or not

Care for the hands:
Let them thrive
Make sure you keep them away from
Spending too much time scrolling up and down trough screens
Of other’s people life’s and deeds
Recognize what your hands are
and stop trying to turn them into something they should be
Don’t dumb and numb yourself through your fingers
Let them dance and cook and paint
Dive them into unknown holes
How else would you get to know what’s in?
Oracles are waiting to be created
Into the future you are crafting now
Take these hands to Earth
Plant, and Love and sow
They are dirt, fertile soil
Seeds and roots and worms and birds
Let them get dirt(y)
With life
Keep them away from sanitisers
And fake nails
That prevent them from looking and feeling like they do
That prevent you from touching into fullness
Nails are claws
Don’t let plastic beauty kill your ability
To be an eagle, a falcon, a wild mama boar

Make sure you touch
New-born babies
Old wrinkles in crone’s faces
Change diapers
Life is not disgusting
It is full and rich
In substance, natural expression
Transformation, elimination
Touch these places in you and others
Make sure you do so

Make sure your hands can finish what they start
And can let go of that which cannot be finished
And can stop right in the middle when a pause is needed
And re-start later
And ask for or offer an extra pair of hands
For care, co-creation, cooperation

Bare hands
Bear hands
Baba Yaga is coming through these hands
To the heart of You
And so
Whatever was done
Or undone
Or not done

At the end of the day
you simply acknowledge
Your hands have worked together with Heart
Always in all ways
And you are the living prayer
That you gift to yourself, others and Life

Iris Lican

1 comentário:

I am happy to know what you feel, please feel free to share :)