Poem: Womb of Creation
Floating in the womb of creation.
Tethered to Her with a silver cord.
Shaped like the crescent moon, floating inside her belly.
It's warm and dark and I feel free.
The space inside of Her reminds me of the night sky.
My little body a reflection of a silvery new moon.
It's quiet except for the low hum of OM creating my cells one by one.
Shaping the different parts of my body into who I will become.
But who shaped Her?
My Mother Kala that burns with passion and tenderness at the same time.
Who cuts through time yet can hold this body so delicately in one of her many arms.
The One that scares the demons but rocks me to sleep.
She is my Mother.
I'm enthralled by her red tongue that has swallowed so many unwanted desires that keep us from our own light.
Her tangled, matted dreads like vines in the forest. Fragrant with patchouli, amber and musk.
Kali Ma loves me and I love her although I don't always understand her. But I trust Her for I know She wants the best for me.
Her mala of skulls a reminder that we will all meet the same fate. So what are we waiting for to discover the One true light inside us all?
She has cut down queens and paupers alike when it was their turn to shed the skin of mortality and step into the silken robe of immortality.
She reaches your ear with a triumphant HUM.
The vibration penetrating through the layers of self deception and bullshit.
Kala, Kali Ma, I praise You and worship the strong, passionate love you offer me.
Wrapped in your belly, floating in the ocean of consciousness I bow at Your midnight black feet and say thank you.
Channeled through Anamargret