The primordial thirst. Where is my fountain? Where is my wellspring?
The yearning for love to find all the dark places in hiding, and let the light in. To be held shaking and crying.
To be naked and small in your arms. To be a tiny broken thing.
Why the yearning to be touched there if it's not meant to be sated?
And who’s hands but God’s can hold that power? Who’s heart can rise to claim me?
Who can be strength in my vulnerability while still allowing the powerful force of nature that I am to be? For even a storm breaks into tender light when the clouds part.
I need a wizard who can wield his power and who can read the omens to know when to surrender.
I need a magic man who understands the wild intelligence of the natural world, and who thrives on the primal and the vulnerable. For to be kin with the elements is both.
To pull from the earth the strength to stand strong and firm, and yield when called for.
To face the wind that whips hair and skin and moves seeds to new homes in the soil.
To embrace the rain that soaks clothes and feeds growing things.
To bare the flame that brings life and warmth to the tribe and the spark to ignite hearts.
I need a master of forces, a keeper of fire and water, earth and air, a whole and dynamic dancer upon the planes.
Oh, Sweet Temperance, who knows how much and when, who has all the colors to answer each moment with precision.
Great Alchemizer who smooths the rough edges and spikes from stones and gems so they are safe to hold.
Come to me now. Find me in the sinking place and fortify my ascent into your arms.
Copyright © 2021, Sheyorah Naify