Obscure Mythology

It's not in the archetype of the Queen, the Nun or the Deaconess that I find myself really,

Childhood lost at 4
Child gained at 21
And lost at 22
Spiritual marriage untied by fate
Asceticism sewn through addiction
To fall over, tired
And be reborn, anew, at 31.

The bare bones might speak to an age old pattern, tread worn through time
But the lived detail begs that I acknowledge the star

The imagination, enlivened by the Nirmanakaya, the Sambhogakaya, the Dharmakaya,

(the pure, the non differentiated, the non discriminated)

The magic of the words half understood, half uttered, half met,
And the cold, empty structures,
That grace me with the space to breathe,

with life.