Like a golden rose risen into form
spun out of the same spiral
as the milky way
arising from the black diamond
of eternity
I have been born
into the sunlight
moonlight
starlight,
what now?
Coming out of the night
into flesh and bone
has rarely been easy.
My very own tender body
might not have made it.
And now this feeling
of being a cat stranded
up high in the tree of life.
These grown human bones
are hard,
but not very.
Each person
must meet their own life
against death's stark mirror.
(Like all paradoxes,
the dancing thoughts
leaping among branches
when we follow them down
to the ground
lead back to the root
and all there ever was
in Truth.)
In order to actually die,
we must release all other deaths,
shed the mantle
of our lineage,
that thin but hard shell to crack.
—Lorena Wolfman
