The Woods Say Welcome and They Are Glad I Am Here

I fear this prison picture amongst trees.

       A girl is blindfolded    rats circle her feet        a vulture hovers above her on a tree branch

waiting for an opening.

      She is bound, rope around her midsection, the rope slinks up the tree.

But the Woods tell me that most of the universe is composed

      of Dark Matter, that light is rare, the Earth’s sun is but a pin prick of bright in all

consuming darkness,

      so we really must connect with the dark,       befriend our shadow selves.

This Eight of Swords orders me: Remove your blindfold, face the truth.

What is my part in arriving here?

It is comfortable to be bound,
            to quiver on a rock,
                                    under a shaking branch, under a vulture,
                                                    while the bats circle.

‡

The High Priestess

Green fog seeps from the forest around her shoulders,

a shawl of leaves, glow
                                                     her hair the color of logs

                                                     her legs blend into tree trunks, dipped in water.

                                                     She is a wrapped up green gift. Our fingers and brains like to
                                      connect with skin and water.
                                                     this lady faces off with our Shadow
                                                     her gifts: moss that spreads everywhere, talking, and a restart

She hovers between two trees:                          rising and falling,
we wait              these trees in the woods hold secrets
between wake and sleep,                     the silence                          an ocean

Is it better to start off positive and end in dread or start in dread and be pleasantly surprised?

we have to want to wait for it all of the important answers

             Look up. the moon is a third eye.
                                                     lunar intuition.
one moon around our necks, the other in the sky. Where do you carry your weight, your water?

                                   Like the moon, we are more authentic at night, after wine, these moments
                           reflected under pulvis.

floating in knowing and unknowing, sprint to the end of night

we have to want it.

‡

Two of Wands : Duality

This witch of wands holds her power in her hands, but she isn’t ready to overshare just yet. She hides in the forest, evading
a chill, writing a radio crime play future

Keep what is powerful with you in a gris gris. confidence, thyme, touch.

If the double flamed torches burn, they shred their captive containers to be with you… pause of relationship building, meditating together.

this duality in our fantasy world worked hard to torture us

it isn’t you to rush into decision making or errands, but look deeper, peel back your pillowcase, your nightmares that choke others

Reflect on the width of his wrists, the curls around his neck, his boot print on the trail,

these opposites of soft and angular can live in you, sprinkles on cake

you might not want to see visions in the woods
the spiders flourish inside flowers, the cone hat, resting on the forest floor

A place holder
            or a beginning?
the universe loves a big second act, a tsunami, a vine creeping up an academic building

there for
hundreds of years

only to crack

with the slightest pressure of thorns