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She cried at the sink
when we left-- but we
were relieved.
A week of
working through our demons,
family standoffs &
miscommunications.
On to the next town
with our yellow gypsy caravan!
Set up our tents &
put on the show,
bright colors &
sleight of hand
dazzling everyone, even
ourselves-- then,
pull up the stakes
& go again.
Eventually
the wheels will appear
to stop.
Our travels
will appear to be over,
the horizon
within our reach.
But still the world turns,
spinning in her gypsy skirt,
orbiting the ancestral fire
attended by her sisters,
dancing with the gods.
She rests in
her own rhythm,
tsunamis
earthquakes
fires
drought--
they don’t stop her because
living is moving,
only death
lies still,
& only for a moment, then
the worms rise up,
pall bearers to
a worthy grave.
The earth reclaims her own,
buries & renews
herself,
gathers up her people
travels
always
on.
-Rose Arrowsmith DeCoux, 4 July 2011
2 comments:
wow! this is so beautiful. what was your inspiration?
We left my in-laws' place (Nancy cried at the sink). Other than that, this nomadic life of the last 2 months. I notice that I keep expecting to "arrive" once we get to India, but of course that isn't how it ever works. It's all part of me learning more and more to rest in motion (as our guru Julia Cameron puts it).
I think my growing sense of the Feminine/Great Mother factors in, too.
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