Goddess Centered Practice
In the woods behind my house rest a collection of nine large flat rocks. Daily, I walk down to these “priestess rocks” for some sacred time alone to pray, meditate, consider, and be. Often, while in this space, I open my mouth and poetry comes out. I’ve come to see this experience as "theapoetics"—experiencing the Goddess through direct “revelation,” framed in language. As Stanley Hopper originally described in the 1970’s, it is possible to “…replace theology, the rationalistic interpretation of belief, with theopoetics, finding God[dess] through poetry and fiction, which neither wither before modern science nor conflict with the complexity of what we know now to be the self.” Theapoetics might also be described, “as a means of engaging language and perception in such a way that one enters into a radical relation with the divine, the other, and the creation in which all occurs.”
Poem: Summer Plans
It is now that the hydrangeas 
are in bloom,
that the air is thick and green
and an inexplicable scent
of watermelon hangs along
the roadsides.
It is now that purple milkweed
is in bloom and butterflies
bring the air alive with color.
Yesterday, I found one sleeping,
wings still and legs folded,
inside the pale pink petals of a lily.
I found a hummingbird nest, too,
in the road,
carefully thatched with bits of lichen.
The wild raspberries are ripe
and I watched ten vultures in flight
above the valley
my sweaty face tipped back
to watch them glide.
I saw a long black snake in the road
and a rusty-orange salamander.
I find myself wondering
what would happen
if I allowed myself
to soften into summer
allowing myself to be slow and luminous,
satisfied with where I am
and what I've done,
content to watch the clouds gather,
a cool glass of green tea in my hands
and wild raspberries on my tongue.
Resources:
- June #30DaysofGoddess daily practice resources
- This week's newsletter
- 15-30 second daily ritual reels on Instagram
- Goddess Magic community
Comments
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Wednesday, 15 June 2022
Thank you! Curiously, there are actually no watermelons growing nearby either so we don't understand what it is that we actually smell! We think maybe wild grapevines (though they usually smell more musky to me) or even possibly honeysuckle that is growing somewhere where we can't see it, but the smell still drifts by--distinctly watermelon-y, whatever it really is!
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Molly,
Great stuff as always! Your words bring back so many memories of summers past.
The hydrangeas and milkweed aren't quite blooming yet in New England, and there's no large-scale watermelon cultivation nearby. Lucky you!