The Magician

The Magician points to Earth and Sky;
a banded piece of agate – a looking glass – rests in hand.

I am cradled between a nurse log and the tangled roots of an ancient tree;
birth and death are one here, our mother makes no distinction.

The forest exhales deeply into my lungs,
expanding them until, I am lifted.

A glass portal appears before me, nestled in soft folds of old growth.
I enter.

The cloud-sky space between fractal lines suddenly darkens;
my eyes begin to pulse, the world is bathed in emerald-green drops of dew.

My Heart is all that remains,
the rest – disintegrates into a swirling prismatic void of fern and cedar.

I can hear the voice of matter here.
Everything is vibrating.

Warm-green Goddess,
I hear you, I am you.