This is What I Mean By Forest

The Lover Speaks
by Beth-Weaver-Kreider

How, when I am hidden within your own deep self,
do you find your way onto your own separate path?
How can the we of us be so individual,
so unaware of the other that exists within us?

This is what I mean by the forest.
This is what I mean by the child who is lost in the woods.
Don’t you see that you are the forest of me?
That when you wander off the path,
you are in danger only of finding your truest self?
Which is me, which is us, Beloved.

TOMORROW’S PROMPT: The Fool rides the Chariot. Today, she learned about the power of polarities, the balance of opposites, and the deep power of being Beloved. Tomorrow, she must use the forces she has learned–the Elements the Magician has taught her, the Mysteries of the High Priestess, the Nurturing Life Force of the Empress, the Will of the Emperor, and the Problem-Solving and Connection-Making of the Teacher–to harness her Chariot and move it forward. Practice! Work! Will! Forward movement! Focus on the task at hand. Her steeds are spirits of storm. Or they are sphinxes. Or they are the energies of sun and moon. Or even the disparate elements of her own being. Whatever they are, she must learn to harness and direct them.

Gratitude List:
1. Driving into spring. The redbuds are blooming in Baltimore.
2. The Walters Museum. Antiquities. The Sekhmet statues, Isis, Mary, a teeny tiny Rembrandt, Wunderkammers, the meticulously-hand-copied Qurans, a Persian jug from the time of Rumi.
3. That wrong exit we took off the highway could have meant an hour of headache to find our way back, but it turned out to be a better exit than the one we had planned.
4. Nepalese lunch. Spicy, spicy, flavorful, and masala chai.
5. Architecture. Truly there are angels in the architecture.

May we walk in Beauty!


This one is perhaps too didactic, too prosey. I think I’ll try again to do another poem about the deadnettle as the teacher. This will stand for today, however.

The Fool stands long and silently
upon the flagstones before knocking.
She raises her hand to the knocker
and listens, as though afraid to fill
the vast and thoughtful silence.

Before she can raise the iron ring,
the door opens quietly inward.
An ancient one stands within,
welcoming the Fool with a gesture
and eyes that bid her enter.

Settling on the parlor couch
which the Teacher prepares tea,
the Fool spreads her belongings:
a notebook, a fuzzy pink hat,
and a book of angry poems.

“I need you to teach me how
to start a revolution,” she begs.
The old one raises a bushy eyebrow
and turns to the window,
gesturing out to a spring field,
purple with deadnettle, henbit,
and Gill-over-the-ground.

“There,” says the old one,
“is your revolution. Bloom.
Be medicine, for the earth
and medicine for the people.
Draw out the toxins from your soil.
Spread beauty, and beauty will spread.
Though you know you are for the plow,
bloom anyway, and prepare
to nourish the soil when you go under.”

Tomorrow the Fool encounters the balance of the Lovers. Animus and Anima find each other and sense the ideal of their union. The secret inner self makes itself known, and she finds that what she has been running from is what she has been most longing for. Desire, attraction, the aching need to belong, to be understood, to be complete–all belong to the realm of the Lovers. Tomorrow, the Fool encounters the Lovers.

Gratitude List:
1. Another osprey, this morning.
2. Green
3. Weekend
4. Watching Babe with the kids.
5. A traveling day tomorrow.

May we walk in Beauty!