I have loved in life
and I have been loved.
I have drunk the bowl of poison
from the hands of love as nectar,
and have been raised above life’s joy and sorrow.
My heart, aflame in love,
set afire every heart that came in touch with it.
My heart has been rent
and joined again;
My heart has been broken
and again made whole;
My heart has been wounded
and healed again;
A thousand deaths my heart has died,
and thanks be to love,
it lives yet.
I went through hell and saw there love’s raging fire,
and I entered heaven illumined with the light of love.
I wept in love
and made all weep with me;
I mourned in love
and pierced the hearts of men;
And when my fiery glance fell on the rocks,
the rocks burst forth as volcanoes.
The whole world sank in the flood
caused by my one tear;
With my deep sigh the earth trembled,
and when I cried aloud the name of my beloved,
I shook the throne of God in heaven.
I bowed my head low in humility,
and on my knees I begged of love,
“Disclose to me, I pray thee, O love, thy secret.”
She took me gently by my arms and lifted me above the earth,
and spoke softly in my ear,
“My dear one,
thou thyself art love, art lover, and thyself art the beloved
whom thou hast adored.”
Written by Hazrat Inayat Khan
Let the old dust rise like a storm and the worthy fall in worship to your feet.
You are in the midnight threshold of hidden to Divine.
You are fierce in your gentleness. You are eternal in your mortality.
Your bones. Shake them.
Your belly. Listen to it.
Your womb. Awaken it.
Your power. BE it.
Be fierce in the beholding of the jewel that you are...
So many honorable names dwell within the chalice of your inherited wealth.
You are a Queendom.
A holy temple for the called-upon devoted,
not a visitors' center for the lost or curious.
Woman, you bleed gold.
And this precious, red, liquid gold is meant only for the mouth of the noble King that has reached the understanding, that his power lies in the living of this koan.
You’ve been walking politely.
Biting your tongue.
Crossing your legs.
Staying in what some call ‘your place’.
I have heard your beckoning for change.
I’ve seen your attempts.
I have tasted your tears of frustration.
Sitting with you through it all.
From a forgotten land I come,
Traversing hells and storms
to stand before you, behind you, next to you..
To tear away the veil that keeps your head
heavy and low.
Im unbraiding your hair,
untying your tongue,
untucking your wings,
and uncrossing your legs to allow the sacred flow.
Come with me dear Priestess,
dance with me this dance of heretical belonging.
Grieving ourselves into laughter,
shaking out the stiffness
as we rebirth and transform the world
through the holy rage
hidden in our thighs and in our broken hearts.
Your hips hold the key to swaying
and your body is the door to the Divine.
It is never too late and you’re never too young or too old
You are the chalice of your medicine.
You are a fucking Queen,
and your BLOOD is made of pure GOLD.
- Anabel Vizcarra
Illustration by tomahok