24 - 25

i'm digging a grave.

a pile of dirt grows by my side, as the shovel cuts into earth,

i'm making space for a body, one that used to dream, used to bleed, used to love, 

she dabbled in arts, painted and wrote poetry, 

was just enough afraid to not step into the big world. 

she passed after a series of ailments. 

though secure and safe, she still cut her foot,

stretched out her hip and arms, got an infection in her throat and eye,

it was just her time. she couldn't walk, she couldn't stand, she couldn't lift a thing,

barely breathing, 

one eye seeking

for the common comfort which now... only resides in the past. 

she rests here now, and i step out of her shadow. after all the calling and reminding,

so many cycles, repeated lessons, we are finally here, at her passing, standing over her,

and what she used to be, what she used to present. 

from here, a point in time - from death -  life is born, the natural cycle is looped, the ice melts,

spring arrives, the truth can finally live loud

be visibly noticed, seen differently than ever before.

i've come from her, 

i'm the one who took the lessons, isn't afraid of jumping into the current, 

riding wild horses across endless planes, hiking mountains or jumping into waterfalls, 

i am the one who will run with the wolves, 

who will eat with the tigers, who will swim with the sharks, i am her. 

La Loba the Wild Woman 

i am the one that admires the yellow waters, the crooked trees, the withered fields, 

i am the snow between earthly cracks, i am the dusk, the dawn, the frozen for months -

not afraid of the soggy and the dirty, the dry and the slimy, 

i am all that she could not be. 

she was the tender snowfall, whereas i am the sharp cold, 

she was the early light spring, when i am late darkness of winter. 

such a thing of beauty, her innocence, her naivety, her trust,

to be swapped for divinity, for bravery, for knowledge, for intuition. 

from 5  to 6 to 7 to 8 - we are aligned now more than ever before - divine timing, arriving.