Saturday Poem

The Forest of the Wild Red Rose

Beloved, you are about to enter.

Here is what you are reaching for:

A deep red rose

unfolding in perfect velvet spirals

emanating

a sweet musky aroma

that spreads through the dwelling

and penetrates every aperture.

It stands alone, unguarded

at a clearance

showered in golden light

surrounded by ancient trees

near running water.

The deep in the red is for my depth.

I dive into the mystery of Soul.

I am not afraid to touch

the darkest folds of truth.

What this means to you

is that I can see into your Soul.

If you are hiding, best not enter.

I can dive with you to that pain

hiding inside the most secret folds of your being.

I can rise with you

to the most sublime regions of your luminescence.

I can be there for you. With you.

I can hear the Infinite Whisper of the Soul.

It is the ink of my poetry.

The red is for my passion.

I am fiery.

Mine is the fire that initiates.

The fire that illuminates.

The fire that cooks and shapes.

The fire at the center of the ceremonial space,

around which the muses dance,

the Goddess sings,

the people gather for warmth.

What this means for you

is no comfort.

No place to sit and watch

on the sides

while life burns the wick to ashes.

With me you are burning.

Sometimes red and hot.

Sometimes warm and amber.

Sometimes sublimely blue.

Sometimes golden and hearty.

Always burning.

The rose is where I’m at.

Essence is what opens in presence.

I am there.

A star is made to shine.

I am there.

A rose is made to be.

I am there.

To be beauty.

I am there.

To be harmony.

I am there.

To be peace that heals.

I am there.

To be love that expands the heart

penetrates and melts the defenses

and returns us home.

I am that.

What this means for you

is vulnerability.

The power to dive into your loss

to find your love.

It is Presence.

I am not the companion to your sports,

though I may gladly play and travel with you.

I am not the buddy for your activities,

though I may be your accomplice in adventures.

I am she who IS with you.

Who belongs not TO you but WITH you.

The unfolding spiral

is life itself

in constant change.

In present blossoming.

In the perfect still movement of now.

Its velvet is my voluptuous sensuality.

You have the promise of my caress.

Enter and feel my tenderness.

Enter and share my wonder.

But before you enter know

that I am always unfolding.

I feed on the chlorophyll of change.

Do not believe that you can ever

have me, possess me, know me.

I will share my most intimate being with you

and still you will not know me tomorrow,

for I grow overnight.

Do not take me for granted.

The second you do,

you will find yourself

with empty hands.

I am not a plastic rose,

interchangeable.

I am not a frosting rose,

consumable.

Not even a silk rose,

immutable.

I am alive, evergreen, ever-growing

ever deepening, quickening, expanding.

I do not intend to wilt until I die.

Until that very moment, I intend to be fresh.

What this means to you

is the pulse of life

between your fingers.

The beating of Earth

against your chest.

The flow and rush of water

into your being.

The heat of fire

cooking your dancing steps.

The wind, the sky,

the vast infinite

emptying and filling your embrace.

Ah! The aroma.

Some say it is a high note

because it penetrates immediately

sometimes pitilessly, unapologetic.

But it is rarely sharp,

rarely the thorn

unless the thorn is needed

to pierce a path to love.

It is a note that vibrates

in many registers at once,

like a rich overtone.

Like patchouli or myrrh

it pours ever-so-slowly into a pore.

Just a drop

immerses your whole being

into my song eternally.

Pour it only if

you can open your heart

to the passion, pain and joy

that rises in the harmony

of the highest frequency of love.

Seek not here

a tiny garden to visit for solace;

for you will find a deep, luscious, wild forest

where magical creatures dwell.

Where love enchants the heart

and possibility magnetizes

your toes.

Like the leaves under the sun,

you will be utterly seen and touched.

Never attacked or used.

Like the breeze dancing ‘round the hills,

you will be caressed and embraced.

Never held prisoner or manhandled.

Like the riverbed welcoming the roaring waters,

you will be received and supported.

Never ensnared or domesticated.

This is the Forest of the Wild Red Rose.

It is a realm of freedom, magic and creative passion.

Now that you know what you are getting into.

Do you choose to enter?

——

Maria Mar

February 28, 2015

New York

©Maria Mar 2015. This poem is the intellectual property of Maria Mar and is protected by International Copyright Law. You are not authorized to copy/paste, distributed or appropriate. You are invited to use the share buttons to share this with your friends by bringing them to this page. Thanks!

Send to Kindle