Your life was plucked from the soiled womb of Mother Earth
Worn down in tumbling from hands’ purity
Like ingrained patterns of behavior
Balancing mind, body and spirit
When mottled or black and white thinking
Is recognized and released
Illuminating value to successes
As well as mistakes.
And when I held you in my hands
For the first time
And placed you upon a glass countertop
To gain some distance
And marvel at your image
These words had already come to mind,
“Ashen flecks fall like snow upon my heart
Melt like mold spores
Spread like salt from tears dried…”.
My open hand
At close distance
As if reaching
Took you in
Until the man behind the counter commented
A cup that has been emptied is no use
Until it has, again, been filled.
After childhood stories over a cup of tea
Fascinated by obsidian found in neighbors yards
And the native uses
For arrowheads
I picked her up again
And had to give back
What I had taken.
Tavius Dyer 11/24/10
Picture of stone and card taken and poem inspired at MoonFyre Metaphysical Campbell, Ca www.moonfyre.net