Tags
ancient Egypt, ankh, Elaine Stirling, metaphysical mysteries, poetry, symbolism, transcendence, transformation
The ship is dismantled
and sold for scrap. The
diver for pearls has shed
her containments and dropped
through the floor that is
no more, palms pressed,
fingers to the heavens,
she is the ankh, scorned
turned Beloved, in the mystery
of Mysteries, oblivious, and when
her pink toes touch coral
dust, her journey reverses
negating the paths
of betrayal and doubt
while denying no thing
for all is both matter
and immaterial
and seeing
what remains
of castles built
on sand, she follows
the bubbles that emerge
from her lips and rises
to the surface where
the vessel of True
Imagination has
weighed anchor.
© Elaine Stirling, 2013
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beautiful
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Thank you very much, and you’re right–they aren’t cheap! What a great blog name you’ve chosen. 😉
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She dove and dove, but in the end no pearls compared with that lovely gas.
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That is a lovely, multi-layered comment, Mikels, and I thank you for it.
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