There is a single rose in the desert of ancient stone
Her grace is a Pow Wow driving through Socal. There are wonders to her endeavors gliding through mountains on falcon feathers. She is a temple of art like a shooting star birth mark reminding her that Earth is a heart. Her luminating photon emission unveils her interstellar mission. Avalon initiation is her tool of divination. Spirit, she can hear it in the sounds of Gopekli Tepe forgotten mounds. Owl of the night tree, she receives sweet and bitter dreams like tasting good and bad tea. Her spirit gifts melt into oceans of her blood like smoking sage leaving sud-composting to nourish the rose bud. Hud, hud, hud, hudi is her warrior alchemy. In land stolen by man, a woman’s Dendera has not completely been consumed by desert sands. There are waters beneath cities uprooting green like Lemurian lavender schools buried deep only visionary have seen.
A fed bear is a dead bear because once
you drink from the worldly spring you become attached to the addictive sugar designed
to place you in a labyrinth like a binding marriage ring. That is why she sings
to remind herself of the Holy spring that heals poison within the glamorous
ring. She knows sacred marriage is a soul carriage. Following the spirit trail
is receiving intuitive mail-telling you where to place your sail. Her mind care
is the bear and the wolf and elk drinking the same motherly milk. She stays
close to the source because that is where the force is strong playing Gaia’s
songs. In a manmade world that has taken God in a game of godly power, she
knows the secret life of the flower. Disconnected no more, she receives the
universe’s core like Nikola Tesla set out to do, crafting a bridge of
consciousness science joining me and you, you to the tree where I can sense the
ecosystem like a healing immune system, a stronger force of light guiding the
heart to Earth-the Earth to hearth where all gather to manifest a most
brilliant birth.