There must be something else, I know there’s something else, she whispers.
A girl sniffs & scratches around in the wilderness beyond her mother’s fields.
Dangerously curious, goes the chorus.
This maiden plucks a flower that opens up a chasm in the earth.
She asked for it, goes the chorus.
And so she descends, her flaming hair trailing out behind her.
Her poor mother, goes the chorus.
In the underworld, she sits on a throne in the womb of a great mystery.
She's lost, goes the chorus.
Here in this place, she caresses the souls of the dead. She learns the rhythms of her own body, she dreams in images that are finally no one else’s but her own. Bewildering or frightening as these forms may be, she learns to spread her wings wide around all of what she knows—not just the angel-bright-pixie-sweets—to encompass the magical depths.
Here in this cavern of the ancient, the unknown, the shadowy void beyond form, her longing becomes a wild light pulsing in her bones. Day by day, the light ripens. Day by day, her hearing sharpens, until her whole body pulses with the primordial songs, the unfurling stories that will carry her back to her remembered home with nectar on her lips.
Day by day, this woman learns to trust her capacity to return.
Whooooooo, goes the wind.