THE MATH : (Lilith Rx + Taurus) TRINE (Pluto Rx + Capricorn) = The Origin of Lilith
8/5/2021Lilith and Samael stand
back to back, on either side
of the Lion's Gated-glass, looking
out on the destruction;
Towers, crumbling, in All
directions. "Shit. It is
getting real out here, Lilitu," Samael says
with their left palm
pressed into the glass.
Lilith presses back
with her right,
"Did you know, people
really can love you,
for who you are, Sami?No need, for secrets?You have to be willing
to love yourself, enough
to live without them;
to let them see you,and let them decide if they want to keep on breathing the Muchness, with you."Samael smiles wide, "How is that going, Lilitu?"
"In the beginning, it was painful,
but lately, I've been able
to let people love me.
And it hurts-so-good to learn
how to do that, as the world
burns, and tells me
of the things I may be,
for what I will not do.I am grateful
we made a vacuum,
where I learned we could grow Love in truths."
“Me too, Lilitu.”
Each lets go the glass;
they walk, making two
…Lilith walks, and remembers last year’s Lion’s Gate, when she left the Garden…
…Poems from Lilith’s Diary…
8/7/2020Home Walks in Me
My heart weeps as I enter
forests I do not yet know.
The trees are marked with red
and yellow rectangles. My whole
body releases as it is held by
the soft snickers of cicadas, pittering
through the atmosphere like sand,
sifting through the crowns
of the woody-ones. I am homesick
for "my" forest; My home-wood,
who's paths are sometimes crossed
by spiderwebs, bigger than my body.
How do I tell you what I know,
about the Earth? I had the immense
privilege to grow with a solitary
forest, all my life. That place is far
from me now, but I am still
a Rock-Hopper. My childhood was
built on the stone walls that run
through it, like coagulated blood.
You see, the thing is, you can't
unsee your ancestors, once they show
-and those spirits asked me to go, once
I opened up my ears. I don't know
when they'll call me back. It hurts
to think about it too long. These days
I am trying to expand where I am
capable of feeling that connection
-knowing it is all the same Earth,
though the limbs change, and the
sounds may shift. And though I walk
away from home, I know that home
walks in me, all the same.
Rock-Hopper| The Magician
I walk the walls because it is
the nimblest Way through the
forest, and the best Way to Walk,
without leaving footprints.
Walking a wall is like hopping
up a river. There are patterns
to the Way things move, and swirl
around them, and you can see that
from this height. Not just
the grid of round and stacked up
stones, in all directions-
-but the faerie paths,
the hooved-ones take, between
each section of the template.
The stone walls are highways
where the bobcats prowl and poop,
and the chipmunks nestle in nooks,
and the snakes wait. If you
really want to walk a wall, you,
Rock-Hopper, must be
the maintenance man. You are
the only one who will need
a clear and stable path to hop,
so you do not eat shit.
This does not mean you must "fix"
everything. Remember this is forest
parkour. Sling-shot 'round that
branch, so long as you know
your landing stone be stable.
If you want to Rock-Hop, you must
listen to the stones. Some days,
you are not as welcome as others.
They slide under your feet.
They're fickle friends.
On these days, step slow,
and lithely clean, and set
sturdy, just the stones you need
A Rock Hopper is not meant
to preserve what Earth decrees
decays, but to shift it slightly
for her use, with consciousness
towards the others;
beasts who liven
Walls, these walls,
whether or not blood was shed
on these stone walls, these walls
are made of violence.
These walls are made of
arriving, on sacred soil, far
from your own root vine, and taking
sap, without asking how
these things are done. Stone
walls are brains of olden
farm-man, left by Weavers,
for gridded cities. Girls
to work in textile mills;
Hearts set out, away from
body. Whether they found
better breathing in either
maze, is hard to know,
not to mention,
our deforestation led
to the death of First Growth
Forest. We called it
"frost-heave", the Way
the Earth began throwing-up
her bones when each death was
so complete, no root-tendon
could hold his stone heart,
at last set out, away
I was wrong, about the moss;
a mint on Connecticut grays.
It is lime rinds, sprinkled
with vermilion pepper flakes,
on a wet coffee grounds base.
Truly it is the lichen, who taste
minty to the pupils, but
with a dry finish, like chalk,
or too much flour.
The newly budding leaf is minty-
-fresh, not like the hearty moss
that does not season out
in winter, finding Ways.
To power through, it matures
and changes flavors, growing
different highlights as it becomes
sun bleached, saturated, cold, or old.
Moss is technicolor hairstyle
shifting pigment root to tip.
Every stone head bearing
unique expressions of possibility.
I was wrong, about the moss.
I wake up before the dawn,
of my 29th return,
to the sound of the frog
song; A hazy herald
to the sticky summer
Sun to come.
I like to hope that
I can hear something
deeper than my own
of what it means
to be Sacred.