Tag Archives: goddess

When There is Nowhere to Turn, I Find Myself Surrounded by the Moon and Her Messengers of Light, By Jennifer Angelina Petro

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When There is Nowhere to Turn
I Find Myself Surrounded by the Moon and Her Messengers of Light
By
Jennifer Angelina Petro

moon

One morning, walking through the January forest,
I watched the path double back on itself and disappear.
One evening, sailing on an indigo ocean of questions,
I saw the horizon swallow itself whole, like a monster all stomach and mouth.
I too searched for brains, a heart, and a home,
And the yellow-brick road turned into rust.
Heaven has fallen from the sky like so many shot-down stars.
There is nowhere to turn that doesn’t lead to ghost towns and empty silos.
My aspirations get stuck in the trees, like shreds of shawls.
Angels’ wings have folded.
Smiles are rimmed in blood.
Embraces reach for me and miss, grasping themselves.
The time has come for whirlwinds and blizzards,
The time has come for floods, and bone-rattling thunder,
Look—the sun was just swallowed by a wolf—
Look—the bridges have all burst into flame–
Look—
The moon is growing fuller,
Taking over the darkness—
Look—she is pulling the sun from the belly of the wolf–
Look—she is stilling the thunder and plucking my prayers from the trees—
Look-she is unfolding the path and shaking out the horizon and spreading it afar, anew—
Look—she is picking up the fallen stars and hanging them back in their places—
Look—she is brushing the angels’ wings and rubbing their shoulders—
Look—she is wiping the bloody mouths, like
A mother wiping a child’s face—rough and tender, all at once–
Look—she is steadying me so I don’t duck or fall when the embraces come—
Look-she is gently scolding me to listen better to her messengers of Light called:
“You.”
Look—she is lifting me, rocking me in the softest of breezes, singing,
And whispering runes and spells, affirmations, and ways through the dark,
And treasure maps and secret passageways through mountains and dungeons–
Her tears fall down her breasts, mixing with her milk as she lets me suckle
For as long as I need in the cradle of her light-filled, infinite arms.


 

 

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Misfit of Light by Jennifer Angelina Petro

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Misfit of Light
By
Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

 

Oh sweet seed, how you bundled into the egg with such eagerness and gusto,
Oh sweet egg, how you nestled snuggly into the roots along the riverbank of my mother’s womb,
Oh sweet soul, being of love and light, how you sped through the heavens to guide this tiny spark,
Oh sweet spirit of wonder, how you swirled and danced and unfolded a girl into the body of a boy,
Did you get so caught up in the bliss of kissing the soul
That you took leave of your senses and careened drunkenly into the making of me?
It’s OK. I am not angry. I can make light of it today
Because I am an alchemist of form, able to transmute wood into moss and salt into musk,
I am a misfit of the highest order,
I am a being of light ungendered living in a vessel that walks in genders;
I am a chalice, a holder of sweetness, shaped with a cup and a stem unlike any other woman’s,
I am a journey–star-navigated through the cities and woods with a knapsack full of fruit,
I am a sailor and the sea and a ship made of ever smoothing wood,
I am the map and the country and the treasure marked with an X and an X and another X and a Y,
I am a heavenly body and a sky full of moons and stars,
I am a noble kink in the standard protocol of the world,
And I am loved by many—enough to become an open road of freedom,
Enough to sing my way home and into bed with the goddess
Who waits to render me back into her soul of souls
Where holy darkness blossoms all things misfit into perfect garden-mounds of joy.

 

 

 

 


All donations go to my transition.  Thank you.

 

 


 

Trying to Focus on the Ceiling Up Close in the Half Light, By Jennifer Angelina Petro

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Trying to Focus on the Ceiling Up Close in the Half Light
By
Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 
Looking up takes practice.
One doesn’t focus the eyes
So easily right off the bat,
Your eyes fight straining
So they don’t go all crisscross.
Give in to the white space however
And all manner of things emerge.
You begin to see colors,
And shapes assemble, and feelings
Of possibility and anticipation
Slowly build in your mind
Until finally you’ve fashioned a dream
To live in all day every day.
Of course your eyes eventually do go crisscross
And everything begins to blur,
And you wonder how long you’ve been
Staring at a ceiling so close to your face,
And then you wonder how you got up there,
And then you look down and just make out
Your assigned form lying there sleeping with blankets half off
Revealing just how frighteningly vulnerable
We all are when surrendered to the dark waves of living unconsciously,
And shivers run through you,
For you are doing just that up here
And everywhere you go,
And so you snip the chord
Binding you to that body
Which sends you fluttering through the ceiling, the attic,
And out into the cold, January night,
And you wonder why it is so windless,
And you wonder why you are so tissue-thin
When you feel so full,
And you wonder what unseen currents
Are bearing you, and you wonder where
And when it will end, and what your final form will look like
When you land in the arms of the moon.
And when she turns you over to kiss your face
And swathe you in caresses of light, you will wonder why
You ever waited so long to filter through the boundaries of your life
And become your fiercely awake and joy-receptive self.

 

 

 


 

 

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On the Devotion of Shaving

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On the Devotion of Shaving
By
Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

One by one,
Finger by finger,
I shave them
Delicately and
With a certain,
Indescribable joy;
I am amazed at how fast
The hair grows on them,
And on my legs, arms,
And chest—places
I never before shaved
Nor ever dreamed of shaving;
Now, every day,
I bend forward, pausing a moment
To feel how much this feels
Like prayer, and I draw
A Venus razor up and under,
Around and around
My calves and thighs, like
An instrument of devotion,
And my legs are so
Happy, so grateful to be touched
And tended, and when I am finished
And feel their smoothness
And how they thrum with being loved,
They tell me again and again
How this was always
What they wanted;
And as I draw the razor
Over my arms, they too shine
With gladness, as does
My chest, although, to be completely
Honest, the skin on my chest isn’t
As happy about being shaved
As the rest of this body,
That said, it loves the absence
Of hair and the silkiness
Is remarkable, as is the strange sense
Of being a mother,
That I have been living
Shrouded with the fur of a father,
And now as it falls into the water
Of the tub, and my skin sings
And rejoices to be unburdened,
I see I am a priestess
And this body a vessel
Of holiness, and every stroke
Of the razor, every experiment
With Nair, every time I run
A finishing razor to find
The stray hairs, I am tending
A temple where Goddess lives
And aches to be known and to know,
Where she shares lotus flowers
And sandalwood, where she kisses
My soul, and breathes over my fears
And cares turning them
Into dragonflies and milkweed seeds,
Where she tells me again
And again, “Thank you
For honoring me with the truth,
Thank you for being born and being
Your very own mother,
No wonder you are tired,
Allow me to nurse you
Into fullness and cradle you
And sing to you
As you rest in the grace
Of the revelation
I have given, and how bravely
You have surrendered
And how naturally
You have stepped into your power,
How carefully you are tending
The garden of who you really are,
Come, rest my daughter,
Allow me to hold you
As sweetly as you are holding me.”

 

 


 

 

 

 




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Awakening to the Dream

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Awakening to the Dream
By
Joseph Anthony Petro

 

 
This morning
When I awoke
From a deep,
Dream-drenched sleep,
Another dream awaited me
In the form of a door
That was never there before
In the eastern wall of my room.
Whatever light was behind it
Framed the door and filled the room
With blinding brilliance.
I rose from the bed,
Wiped my eyes,
Remembered I was wearing
Phillies shorts and a t-shirt
And thought: Whoever
Wants me to enter
Or Whoever wants
To enter here might just be
A goddess or an angel.
And so I changed
Into my most flowing,
Comfortable clothes—
A light green, silken blouse
From India, and tan,
Billowy pants—light as air
That looked like a dress
The legs were so wide.
I brushed my hair.
Did my best to look beautiful,
All the while the door waited
With tender, illuminated patience,
And when I was ready
It opened, flooding my feet
With mountain mist, and the room
With clear, dew-soaked air—
Morning air, comfortable air—
Fresher than spring, crisper
Than autumn air—air kissed
With welcome.
I stood, bathed in radiance,
Breathing in deep freedom,
Allowing the light to drape its fragrant,
Satin shawl around my shoulders.
“Ready?” came the voice.
“I think so,” I replied.
After a pause the voice
Asked again: “Ready?”
“Yes,” I smiled, smoothing
My pants, raising my head high,
Opening my chest,
Straightening my back,
Settling my shoulders: “Yes, yes I am.”
And when the soft hand
Took mine and I stepped over
The threshold I knew
There was no turning back–
I was my true self—embraced by light,
And I was entering a living dream–
A dream to end all dreams.

 


 

 

 




Blue Feathered Soul

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Blue Feathered Soul

by

Joseph Anthony Petro

blue feathered soul

 

Her blue robe feathers over
My blue feathered soul
On a feathery blue evening
Bedecked with the moon.
Blue feathered tears fall
From my eyes only to rise
In the feathery blue trees as fireflies
Dancing in a festival of light.
If I let you hold me
It might be that I weep for days.
Are you ready for that?  I ask, ashamed.
She opens the drapery of her wings—
Blue feathered, full of sky, full of ocean,
Full of stars, full of infinite mercy, and says,
That is why I have come.

 

 

 


 

 

 

 



Living Among Roots and Shadows

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Living Among Roots and Shadows
By
Joseph Anthony Petro

 

roots and shadows

 

My soul is caught
Among roots and shadows, like
A piece of silk caught
In the branches of a tree
Or in a bush of thorns.
Still living
My soul,
Blown out
Of its trappings
By so much sorrow,
Remains
Tethered by a thread,
A thread of presence and of hope,
The end of which is wound
Around your outstretched hands,
It streams from the fragrance
Of your spring-blossomed words,
It is spun from the loom
Of your compassion.
And the reason I know this
Is because I stand among roots
And shadows, like
A piece of silk
Caught in the branches
Of a tree or in a bush
Of thorns, and I am still living,
And my soul, blown out
Of its trappings, remains tethered
By a thread of presence and of hope,
The end of which is wound
Around my own hands and streams
From my own spring-blossoming words,
It is spun from a loom of compassion
I built and work at by candlelight
In a moon-drenched room alone. And the reason
I know this is because I weep
Among roots and shadows,
I flail among roots and shadows,
I panic among roots and shadows,
I shake and I scream and I die
A thousand times among roots
And shadows, like a fledging bird
Caught in a storm and is still alive,
My blown out soul tossed
By winds of shame and terror, remains held
Somehow, someway beneath the wings
Of a great and terrible love
That will not let me blow away.
I know this because today I rest
Under the shadow of his wings
And among the roots of her beautiful, all-
Holding earth.

 

 


 

 

 




In Praise of Trees

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trees friends

In Praise of Trees
By
Joseph Anthony

In Praise of Trees

God is in the trees,
wind-infused, sifting through branches,
whispering eternal solutions to everyday problems,
wholly unafraid, spreading infinite roots,
holding the sun on the tips of his fingers,
cracking new skin making new rings appear rippling forth
and so on and so on unto eternity.
Goddess is in the trees,
elegant and wise,
moon-shawled shoulders,
stars in hair, branches spreading shelter and touches,
and invitations to holy silence:
Come, sit down against me, she says, and rest,
feel what real solidity is, and the strength
I bear in my boughs for you and birds
And climbing children, tree houses,
And nests of eagles and hawks.

God is the trees, shadow-maker verdant green,
Goddess is in the trees, shadow-dappled fire-crowned,
God is in the trees, leaning down to lift the little ones up–squirrels
baby raccoons, cicada nymphs, and wayward snakes and cats,

Goddess is in the trees, lifting the sky, setting out stars,
God is in the trees, stirring the clouds,
weaving constellations of planets and stars,
Goddess is in the trees, mingling roots with earth and singing
Incantations of nourishing wonder,
God is in the trees offering space for ravens to assemble, like
Monks and ministers, where owls can perch, like
Joan of Arc and Sister Odilia after her sight is returned,
Goddess is in the trees, tossing leaves, like
Little ships, each catching a glimpse of the light
As they sail away in streams and rivers,
Carrying holds of gold and hope for tomorrow
And now, there and here, everywhere
Moments are opening to space and time,
That Goddess gives and gives some more,
God is in the trees, seed-sailing, breath-giving
Wanting only the best for you and me
And the giraffe nibbling leaves,
Goddess is in the trees, seed-spiraling, seed-blessing,
Seed sending, each with a message
That says:
Abudance is real
And available
in each and every beat of the heart.
God and Goddess are in the trees,
Intertwined and interwoven, like lyric and song,
And night and day, Lover, Beloved,
Mountain and sky.
God and Goddess are in the trees,
Blanket of leaves and branches of intricate wishes.
Stop a moment,
give yourself over to them,
kneel at their roots,
Sleep in their arms,
Pray to their slow, patient consciousness
Pervading the ground of being with filigrees of earth-touching,
Water-drawing, heart-holding roots,
Pervading the sky with air-climbing tendrils of praise
And praise and praise,
And palms that open in gratitude sweet with tears,
Hear them as they sing:
You have been born
And you have been seen
And you have been carried here
Through our passageways
and intentions and through our conscious
Benevolence and kindly mischievousness,
Through each ring and root and leaf,
Through each swaying in summer storm,
through each autumn when we dress in our finest clothes,
through each standing still in winter, arms outstretched, gathering snow,
and through each spring when we surprise you again and again
with green, sweet green, and blossoms that rain delicate
and heavenly, and fruit, more fruit than you can ever imagine,
it is all for you, breathe it in—breathe it in.
This sky is for you, breathe it in-
We are for you,
Breathe us in—
This earth is for you—
Breathe it in—
This moment in time and space–
Is for you—
Breathe it in—
This song, this fragrance of unity and restfulness—
They are for you—
Breathe them in,
And pray to one another
Compassionate prayers
Let your love spiral through us like
ribboning wind, and know that we hear you
and know that we are you
and know that you’re never alone.
Let every tree, every branch, every root, every leaf, every seed,
And every least bit of kindling and firewood,
Every table and chair, pencil and bookcase,
Let them all be reminders
Of our presence and what we allow
And ache for you to make with us, create with us—
Breathe it all in.
And know that we,
God and Goddess,
Are here
In love
With you.


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