Paul and Terra
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Bridges An art and poetry series
by Terra Currie

reflections

Reflections

Mother was buried beneath the temples he built and he put on her robes and twisted her symbols into dissonance he called the one only truth.

Our roots were just visible enough that we almost believed and so our wildness was tamed and our nature we hid until we forgot who our mother was.

"And that's when the trees died," Crow cawed clearly,

warning our now deaf ears of the repeatable, time and again.

The birds of yesterday took flight over the waters who remember the once luscious life along these banks.

The life death renewing dual nature that means whole.

Reflections II

Tempt, hypnotize, look closer.

Reveal.

Let fear be healed.

Together.

Earth bellied, Skybound,

delicate details and broad vision found.

Who's egg will hatch? Whose nature will be?

Hold space for the in between.





 reflection

spider

Circling Light

I circle me with light,

inner fire growing

infinite possible light,

fears no longer sowing.


I weave this night into the light,

inner fire glowing,

radiant web circle of life,

protective love light flowing.

She Held Me

Mother.

She held me for me for one year,

when I couldn't love me myself.

She gave me back when I was ready

to speak truly "I love" me to me.

I hugged me to my breast,

opened my eyes to the west.

The new moon sky was lit by clouds who had parted

revealing to me only the shining sisters. I heartened.

Seven sisters.

Loving me loving me.

Mother.

Holding me holding me.
sheheldme

Wholey

The ancients knew.
Death is birth is death is birth returning.

There is a portal between forms, between worlds-
a threshold where She perches.
On the border,
in between life and death,
She holds space for both
within her one form.
The cosmos dwell in her wing span
and our spirits soar there.
She pecks the flesh
   from loved ones,
transforming death offering to life.
Within Her the universe is waiting,
cycling,
death, birth, death, reborn.
vulture

Death and birth are not so different at the threshold.

The bones,
now clean and pure,
the white structure within made visible without-
dead clean-
become white Goddess, nourishing new life
forming in the black womb.

Think not in facts.
They are an illusion.
Remember the metaphor coded in you.
She holds this space...
nothing is in fact as it seems
and everything is the same one organism being.
She breathes you and you, her,
and death and birth are one.

There is a portal between worlds,
a threshold,
and she perches there-
a metaphor embracing what is felt and sensed.
Bend your mind and bend my tongue,
that their parallels may finally meet.
Rigid perspectives are brittle.

As we fold to the fragrance of the rose by another name,
the sweetness of Her metaphor fills our senses.

Once,
She was not feared but revered.
Then,
They came-
   those who feared failure to control.
Now,
She enfolds us on the edge of our perception,
deep within Her,
wrapped in wings we fail to notice.

She is embodiment
of the metaphor that is All.
Birthing, life and dying-
the transformation
that comes to every being.
Enter her.
She'll pick you clean and birth you too.
The energy of each, you, me,
transforms into a reborn we, through She.
Birth, death, birth, death, re-birthing.







Paul and Terra