Wounded Witch

As a child, I would sing behind the boathouse, my voice traveling over the water, hoping no one in the world could possibly hear. “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” would be my go-to tune but often I would make up these long, run-on songs about having a wild and true companion — one who would know me, walk with me, burn with me. I didn't know those songs were prayers, but they were.

And I also remember at a small age thinking myself a witch. Perhaps I was named as such, getting into trouble, doing bad things, carrying around my own heart in a jar in order to get close enough to those I loved. I was wounded. But as Cohen would say, and Rumi before him, perhaps that is where the light entered.

Spellbound.

He wraps around me
like pine smoke
rising.

Have you heard that the tomb is just another womb? Just outside the entrance we linked arms for the unveiling. What has been shared is to be given. Only gratefulness now.

A full moon dimmed by snow clouds, low in the branches. Night passes through pain and sleeplessness, as if sailing on changeless winds. Yet, this is no-thing happening to no-one – discarded trash on the path. Let us be at ease now – with God, with our hearts, with all.