drunk on the nurturing feminine (30)

i am drunk on the nurturing feminine

1
i am drunk on the nurturing feminine.
if all-that-is truly favors fools & drunks,
then i am twice favored having traded strong
drink for another bittersweet intoxicant;
having surrendered to the goddess who
guides me –

the lithe & flowing kuan yin who
like the willow, gracefully bends
in the most ferocious storm, only
to spring back into shape again
when it passes –

through the chaos of my tumultuous loving
feelings –

the many-named isis, true wife,
tender mother, & beneficent
queen of nature, nimbused with
moral purity & mysterious
sanctity –

through my karmic mood swings which undo
my serenity –

yemọja/ọya/ọşun energies that
move me inward to source; move
me backward through my episodic past,
through soul shaking/shaping events
to breach into the now –

into the bosum of she who is clothed in
the sun –

the awareness of death whose winds
bear the promise of life & mortality,
reminding me of the changes that i
resist & gives me courage to make,

letting her light shine within me –

the erotic binder of atoms into
elements, gases into planets, males
& females into parents, families
& generations; the forces of expansion
& contraction into creation –

making me one of her own.

2
wary of pitfalls i have probed my past, hoping
to ward against false turns & wrong assumptions;
winnow out the fruitless & ephemeral, be
responsible for all of my truths. my self-definitions
ripped away; i have gazed
upon the vast, expanding emptiness

of my own vulnerability, have seen
what i cherish in my most sacred inner
spaces; learned what fills me with fear,
what moves me, what inspires me up
scale to unspeakable joy.

in the deep womb of self have i gone to dream,

sank into trance, had visions, received
insights washed in & out on psychic
tides, lived through deep mystical /
terrifying realities well beyond ordinary
& mundane senses.

perhaps i am too weary to exploit my gains, reap
my learnings;

am not totally healed from past blows;
from that last test of my soul's integrity,
when the sheath ‘tween self & unknown
was rent. maybe i need to wait & let this
relationship define itself.

no, my amorous nature would have me seize
the reins,

my sphinx-like steeds, chew on their bits,
anxious to lunge forward; be on their way
down love’s open road. a wild excitement
opens my nose, but i am yet wary, attentive
to the way ahead.

the wind blows into my face a triumphal feeling of
freedom

but my heart, many times wounded, reminds
me to have care; to attend to important details.
& overlook or minimize nothing where love
is concerned; to move slowly & deliberately
forward.

shall i give my steeds their heads?

3
i am loath to think that i am so miserly, like the man
clinging tight-fistedly to a few measly coins – one for
each antecedent wife, mate or long-time companion –
for fear, forgetting that one must give to get. am i
so truly poverty conscious where relationships are
concerned? where is my magical talisman for love?

perhaps my inner judge is too severe,
too steeped in self-criticism & self-doubt;
plays too freely over & over again in my head.
i shrink back from the enormity of challenge –
before pressing forward.

i can stall no longer. self-sovereignty must vanquish

self-limiting beliefs or habits & appearances;
too many unknowns are taking shape & my
skin, like parched ground, longs for a stormy,
wet caress. my lips, dry, cracked & sore
remember

the sweetness of other lips, large & soft,

that would rather kiss than talk; whose truth
lay in their titillating consecration of my body
with a viscous unguent that rouses ancient
memories – taking me beyond vaginal squeeze
& la petite mort’s unrestrained delight –

of the nexus, the energy source within that enables

the experience of a deeper love; that electrifies
& enkindles with sudden insight my wholeness,
my worthiness & divinity. where i go, usually
after intense & prolonged ego deflation, to
restore my soul.

& so I give in to the metaphorical chase wherein the thrill
of seduction lies:

the excitement of wanting & pursuing can give
an ephemeral satisfaction & i distracted, stumble
across stores of self-confidence & self-belief that
increase the likelihood of conquest. & so, into
infatuation’s gaping maw I jump

a capite ad calsem (from head to heel) – ad alta (to the

summit), ad astra (to the stars)… again!

© Joseph McNair;2009