Honoring Hearth, Home, and Body

Magic, people & dirt.
Aikido reminds me of the fire
in my heart, in my belly.
In my throat, my voice.
I have the power.
I’ve come up from the depths
Time and Time again.
I come back full of bright fire
Contained within me.
Occasionally lashing out, branching out
To touch or whip those around me.
I am holy.
My breaks have been filled with gold.
I am hearth.
I tend to my home with the care I feel for myself.
It waxes and wanes as does
my care for myself.
It always finds its way back
to center, back to love,
careful and full. Whole.
I am whole.
My breaks and cracks are of me,
and I am whole.
My messy room is of me.
It is part of my whole.
My house in all its disarray,
My home, is in me, is whole.
•
My fire has gone out.
The last ember flickered and went cold.
I am cold, muddy, lost in the dark.
I am going to seek a new ember
To rekindle my internal fire.
I take off my shoes and socks.
I must be barefoot for this trip.
The soil within me is cold and muddy.
It reaches halfway up my shins as
I march through it.
This journey feels unending,
but I keep going.
I know it will lead somewhere.
Gradually, I grow used to the mud and cold and do not fear it.
I have faith that I will reach my destination.
The change happens slowly, almost imperceptibly.
But soon I am feeling warmth.
The mud is still there but it is the temperature of my body.
I know I am almost there.
I step on something that burns,
only for a second, and I realize
I am close.
I look ahead.
There is a fire here.
Its blaze lilghts the way.
Now I am at its feet.
I honor it.
Taking an ember from this blazing warmth of an entity.
I take a piece, and it lights my way back home.
I place it in the hearth of my body, 
my soul.
I fan it.
Using my whole body to animate this ember.
It grows, and soon I have a blazing fire in my center, my home again.
I thank Hestia for her gift,
knowing I hold a vestige of Her
in this hearth of my soul.
•
WEEPING TISSUES
The tissues inside my ribs are alive. They are alive with grief, loss, rejection
They want to turn in on themselves and weep.
They have been damaged by the world, 
but there is joy in knowing I can express that pain, through movement.
There is joy in movement.
•
winding slithering river snake
popping balloons jumping staccato
stirring oatmeal, adding spices
lean towards that which you seek
•
i flowered; my soul flowered.
i filled out my soul
after leaving him
i became whole, complex, and deep
i realized that i had everything i needed within myself to thrive, to flourish.
i embraced solitude, and took step by step to build a richer life
i did not share this whole process on social media
i allowed myself privacy as i grieved and flailed.
i newly embraced the power, potency, potential in secrecy, in keeping to myself.
this flowering, internal as it is, is dark and rich. Like the blooming of a fig tree, the flower ends up inside the fruit. wasps climb into this internal fruiting flower, where they deposit their offspring’s eggs before being decomposed by the enzymes within. similarly, new life bursts from inside me, while the old and dying is decomposed, composted into a juicy bulbous fruit. it contains its complex beauty inside, only to be known to those who climb inside and get caught in its tendrils—only to be known by those who are ready to descend into the underworld.

originally published 2022.