The images in this poem are captivating me, speaking somehow about Lent but I’m not sure exactly what. Letting the questions be the practice for today’s start of the season. (Click the link below for the author’s further reflection on the poem.)
There are places in you
Where thousands of bright, tiny flowers
Open each morning to the sun
In meadows as vast as the sky.
An ancient alchemy courses through your bones.
It speaks in feathers and stones and
precious metals and the footprints of mandalas
left by the stories we tell with our lives.
Until green tendrils sprout from your fingernails
And lichen swathes your eyebrows.
Until your roots spread and uncoil and
Writhe down through soil and rock.
Rise up into your magnificence and
Take your place among the constellations.
The Earth is her own medicine.