Some years ago,
in December, I died.
my breathing skipped, the blackness came in,
and I was dead.
in the next few instances, a few moments past,
I took my first breath, again.
the light returned, my son was born.
before meeting him,
the days prior, I had yet to really see me.
I was living an identity, something taught over
taught to me, molded on to me.
it never fit well.
the closest moments to this rebirth
were filled with these recognitions,
awakening to the parts I had shunned.
the magical parts.
December, the month of the star.
the month of the dark. The moments of death.
in some parts, no god light.
the stars show up, guiding our paths.
walking us to the grounds that
await our rest.
the parts that refresh things.
my energy has always known this depth,
where all goes to die.
that darkness was waiting for me,
captured in my womb,
waiting for me.
no moment before could I break free,
soaring took time.
the peace to be felt at that level of the light,
gliding side by side with the powers
of the sky.
they came alive that night,
the beginning of things,
the ending of things,
nines divine right.
circling until the next cycle ignites,
no fear for death,
proven it births light.
my son's eyes opened bright,
a baby lion's stare.
aware, prepared for the work.
they will keep coming forth,
the call is loud.
the womb is birthing warriors in the dark,
quietly, carefully plotting it out.
eyes are watching, careful now,
pull the dark out and allow it to
light the path of One.
pull it all out.
standing I gave birth
and I will not sit down except to
rest, steady now, following my heart.