By inky gloaming shadows, I sing my invocation, The teallach hallowed by herbs, Cathartic yarrow and pine. Powerful descending dream, I yield senses, baring all, The Great Spirit holding me. Jagged stones pricking my soles, I breathe, praying for answers — A bubbling ancestral stew Of people-pleasing and pain, Fetters forged on pocked anvil. Why must I carry burdens, Strewed skeletons awaiting A closet conversation? Listening, acoustic salve; Integration, holy rite. On labyrinthine distaff, I spin prophetic wisdom — Triggers, angels in disguise.
Journal Prompts: Who and / or what are “angels in disguise” in your life? In what ways have you conversed with them, thus both facing and learning more about self?
Notes
Teallach is Irish-Gaelic for “hearth” — a place to be amazed, to cultivate a sacred marriage with awe and beauty, to know and fully experience self as co-creator rather than having simply been a visitor to this world.