Saturday Poem

My Thanksgiving gift to you!

Thanks for the Churning

When I was a little girl

I would clap in delight

at the alchemy taking place

as milk turned into oatmeal.

Mom did not seem to find it

as fascinating as I did.

Her eyes had become

blunt instruments,

unable to see the miracles

that churn day into night,

clay into creatures

and lamps into stars.

As I grew up I too became blind

to the wonder

of this stunning world.

I forgot why I had chosen to be born again.

The world is so beautiful!

I walked the streets at night

afraid of the shadows,

seeing trees as harbors for danger,

failing to see the full moon above

or the magical lights below

slithering trough the tracks

like flying serpents or fire-spitting dragons.

I could no longer see the rainbows around people.

I could no longer hear the poet-trees whispering poems in my ears.

I could no longer smell the fragrance of spirits coming to visit from the other world.

I did not really touch the world: the velvet in the rose, the silk in the leaf.

No longer did I reach out with the tip of my tongue to kiss the sweet, sweet rain.

I had been dimmed.

My magic went to sleep.

I was Sleeping Beauty waiting for her prince.

Falling in love would bring the magic back,

but I was kissing frogs that never became princes.

So I went back to sleep,

painfully aware that the magic was was buried deep somewhere inside me,

but unable to enjoy it myself.

I did not know that I was being churned myself,

My magic had been churned into mush,

like the caterpillar before it turns butterfly.

And then, one day that I cannot distinguish from any other day

the mush that kept me formless

and weighed on my wings

was churned once more into open wounds.

I bleed for years. I cried for years.

My wounds were being churned

into my Personal Medicine.

And when that churning stopped,

I had been cooked in delicious alchemy.

My Personal Medicines were clear and strong.

My Life Purpose shone like a star.

My heart was full and overflowing with Grace.

My butterfly wings had opened.

Now I know that life is alchemy.

I see with the eyes of a child.

Wonder is back in my life.

Life is a track of miracles

where the train of magic runs,

taking me into surprising journeys

through enchanting landscapes.

Today I give thanks for the churning.

The constant churning that cooks

our potential into blossoming contributions

to this wonder-filled world.

The constant churning that transforms

the wound into medicine,

the formless longing

into well-rounded realization.

I no longer distrust pain when it comes

or change when it ruins my careful plans.

I recognize the churning.

I am grateful for the churning.

——-

Maria Mar©2014

New York, NY

November 25, 2014

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