I believe that spirit and healing can be found in
everything and through every practice…
As the Dalai Lama
says, "We must make room for all believers, and also, room for the
non-believers."
The poem Stone
Altar came to me after moving into my new home, after I made my Stone Altar.
Though it is written in third person, it is I who I am speaking of in the poem.
Stone Altar
She balances her stones,
one on top of the other,
rocks she’s collected
from all over the U.S.
India, Europe,
and Canada,
places them onto a plate.
She calls them stone people.
Holds the spirit
of each one,
feeling their ruggedness,
tracing the cracks, bumps,
knots of earth,
hoping somehow
her hands are able to bring healing,
peace to the people,
to the ancestors,
to the memories stored inside the
stones.
She picks up a gray one
from Terezin concentration camp,
imagines herself
rubbing the worry from it
while remembering the guide,
a man who’s now her friend.
He spoke of the human spirit,
the hope that they had
during those horrific times
as they worshipped in the ghettos,
in secret,
in the stone belly
of the hidden synagogue.
She hurt her foot
while carrying hot stones
with a pitch fork
into a sweat lodge.
Felt the heat of them,
the balls of fire
readied for sweaty prayer
before the water-filled gourd
doused them,
making steam
to melt worry, ego,
so prayers would come.
Over time these stones break,
crumble into little ones
like the rocks
on her stone altar.
She is a mason of sorts, a witch,
a goddess, yogini, dakini,
Enlightened female Buddha,
who meditates, sweats, and prays
with stones.
~
~If you are interested in seeing your poetry appear in this blog, or submitting a poem by a woman that has inspired you, please click here for submission guidelines. I greatly look forward to hearing from you!~
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