Desert Self

Let me share a poem. About truth. About sand (and salt). About being enough. It is written by someone who inspires me a lot lately. Mary Reynolds Thompson of A Wild Soul Woman.

She walks in fire, through fire.

Treads cracked earth with bare feet.

Silence and spaciousness are her companions.

Born of flame, sand, rock, dust,

she needs no pool to see her own reflection.

Garbed in red gold by day; by night, her hair shimmers with stars.

In her presence snakes curl up like kittens.

She defies plough and planter, knows she is enough.

A longing for solitude, to let go of all that is not hers to carry,

has brought her here, fashioned in her something real.

In the vastness of a desert night, she is aglow with the original fire,

can hold the fire, without being consumed by it.

Prickly as cactus, cracked and half crazed,

she cackles with wit and fierce tongue and suffers no fools.

She is intensity and immensity.

She has seen through the mirage, all the way to the horizon.

To look into her eyes is to know the truth.

© Mary Reynolds Thompson

~ Desert Woman

This is me. This is truth. This is my truth. I am enough…