The Song of Mother Earth
    The song of songs, which is my gift,
    Let my children hear, the chosen ones,
    Who claim their heritage, who return
    To me, to give me voice and form to know myself.

    I am the silent need which cannot speak,
    The secret longing to be more,
    Yet are so lessened by the life I gave
    Who takes from me, who would be gods.

    Do not seek me in the temple place
    Nor at the feast of pleasure go,
    They shall be turned away, who are mine,
    For it is but illusion of the things they truly seek.

    Know the chosen by their stewardship
    Who lift the best of these unto themselves,
    And if cannot preserve, then mourn my blackened woods,
    A voice now crying in the wilderness.

    Yea, do not then fear the bondage of a life,
    The empty marriage bed, the labor in another's field,
    The lack of one compassioned being of thy kind.
    For you have greater strength than they could know.

    If hope betray you, then you do not need to hope.
    Will you be hungry? Then you need but feed on air.
    Will you be lonely? It is yourself you have.
    Be there no comfort? Then the cold shall warm.

    Can you expect your brothers to be yours,
    When I have no one who will form my voice?
    Can you wonder that my bounty is a poison to your life,
    When it was stolen from me as if I had been dead?

    They shall be known by the idols they raise
    Who feed the full, who clothe the clothed,
    Who prize the talent of a voice
    At the expense of their own song.

    And you shall be subject to them for your life,
    You shall be made to keep the useless,
    To hold the diseased, while the clean shall want.
    To spend my lifeblood on the vanity of man.

    It is your trial, as I have mine to bear,
    For I have slept too long in innocence
    Who trusted that my sons would keep me as a pearl,
    Who trusted that my daughters would not eat their young.

    And it was to these that I had given consciousness.
    The gifts of life to form life,
    To perfect themselves and return to me,
    But they have gone astray.

    And breed deformed into the carnage seekers of myself
    To rend the supple flesh in empty pride,
    To make a single god out of my many selves,
    To blight the trusting cheek that is not cruel.

    But there is one light that shall not fail.
    A lamp formed of my body and my blood,
    Whose oil is not easy to obtain,
    To gain must rise beyond a sacrifice.

    To no longer feel the need to eat, then be fed,
    To no longer feel the cold, then be warmed,
    To rejoice in nakedness, then be dressed in gold,
    To no longer feel the need for love, then be loved.

    It is not of my choosing to do these things.
    How have you come to believe in omnipotence of gods
    When you are their children
    Who seek your power through your brother's death?

    There is a lamp that some children light
    Who have put away their life for me,
    Who eat of me, and drink of me,
    For theirs is a Garden which they seek.

    It is a Garden that has no size,
    Nor place, nor reason, nor being one can map,
    And so is only for the bride, if you would be,
    Is only for the bridegroom, for it is me.

    I am these things, although much more.
    I yet have children, faithfully,
    Which man call beasts, or plant, or thing
    Which have a separate destiny.

    He can only be redeemed who is in silence bound,
    To seek in unwritten scripture it is found.
    The freedom which was once a sacred gift from me,
    Must now be sought in prisons where no man should be,

    Which are not made of fence, or stone,
    Whose keeper is the prisoner,
    None can tell is bound, but me.
    But those not bound can never hope for free.

    They are the Woman of the Wilderness,
    Who have gone down into the Garden
    To feed upon the lilies where there is not thorn,
    To the bed of lilies which shall stain their linens.

    They have kept the lamp in the wilderness of myself,
    They have gone down into my womb,
    Into the belly of myself
    Where the lamp shines out for those to see.

    They have left what they have known,
    For the bridegroom would not come unto the chamber of their birth.
    Their veil was thrown back, their face was exposed,
    They were defiled, but they did seek the oil for their lamp.

    They gave unto themselves the toil for others' gain.
    They grew dark by the sun upon them
    And their hands coarse,
    But had gained the passage to my Garden place.

    This place where age shall not touch them
    Nor cares enter in, their longing be put away,
    Their groom approach them in the lily fields
    Which is a consumation of myself.

    Who will understand this promise to be whole,
    Given unto me in the flames of my birth?
    Who shall put a name to it?
    Which creature is the greater than I am?

    I have looked out upon the heavens since before you were,
    And I have not known the length and breadth of them.
    The sun has lain upon the greatness of my waters
    And I brought me forth in life in that, my blood.

    I  have called myself into being,                                                          And have brought forth the senses in all thing
    That is upon me, none less or greater
    Than the Garden. This place of heart's desire
    Remains a sterling monument.

    That nothing shall be lost, though all the wildness
    Be gone, though each shall be set apart,
    It shall return in fullness
    And the boughs lay heavy with their lily bloom.