Palettal Prose: Balanced Rock

Atop the hill She watches;

She eats, sleeps, and stretches out into the ethers,

into the coolness of the night

and catches falling stars

sprinkles them with the moon’s dust

as moonlight strolls to the other side

the She eats them for breakfast.

Just before day breaks

and catches a glimpse of Her moving,

settling back into Her hilltop,

sandstone, red earthen clay throne

adorned with sage and scrub brush,

rabbits and ravens and rolling stones

moved about by winds and weather,

sunbathing and soaking in Silence and Space,

She looks across the endlessness of blue sky,

across to the other Deities,

and gives Them a knowing wink.

Keeping Their secrets.

She settles in to receive guests,

to listen to their hearts and feel their joys and sorrows

to hold them in Her field of gravity and heal them.

In Her majesty this Red Rock Madonna teaches balance.

There are no “what if”s or “if only you knew”s

only balance, and that requires letting go.

Feel balance in the Mystery,

that is, after all, what is left and when we find It

we usually adorn It with stuff that is familiar–feels safe,

keeps us in illusion–weighs us down, keeps us from Her until

we let it all go again to greet the Mystery once more,

to unfold an unfamiliar path a little farther this time.

To balance.

~Purple Moose, from We’Moon

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