the freedom she seeks

The freedom I seek
is in my hips,
the bones of my feet,
the expanse of my ribs
answering the rhythm
like the gliding tide.
Drawn in, out, in, out,
swooning helplessly with devotion
to the silver, swollen moon
gravity herself
(who, in turn, cannot resist
describing an endless
sacred circle
around her own true love,
pachamama.)

The freedom I seek
is in my hands,
that do not flinch or clench or
raise themselves to shield my eyes
from the fire of my desire
but become the tools of its realization
in their motion,
their song,
their strength
to hold and soothe and raise
to dig and to plant
to write and to shape
to lift a butterfly from the dusty earth of a cacophonous cactus marketplace
and laugh as she flies away.

The freedom I seek
is in my sex,
full, laughing, sweaty
without shame or anticipatory collapse
I move in the knowing
I embody the name that was whispered to me
in the moonlit forest sky sanctuary
~nectar~
the spreading salve
tonic for the dark, smoldering places
merciful death transmuting into 
fertility
I am she
glowing, real, open.

The freedom I seek
is in my mind,
alive with possibility
as empty as the desert sky
where I take the one seat,
mistress of my destiny,
I guide my way
from choice.

The freedom I seek
is in my heart
beating universal rhythms
lush green pounding emergence, mama Africa
the rumbling silence of the buffalo
(gone from here, taken from this place)
the salmon, guided home through ineffable vastness
and you, my beloved,
the answer to one wondrous question
that time has taught me to ask
you call this dance
you enrapture this drumbeat
until
ommmmm
ba-BUM ba-BUM ba-BUM
and
whhhhhssshhhhhh (…starlight's song)
become the one prayer
that was whispered to us when we were born
and that rang out always
across our slumbering journeys.

The freedom I seek
is in me.
I am here;
I am already free.


   - caitlin cislin