A poem about sacred vibrations throughout the sea, sky, and land.
(Image description: A photo of a smithy with worn stone walls. The anvil is centered in the middle of the space. Tools hang on the left wall, with wheels leaning against it. The hearth and the bellows can be seen in the background.) Credit: Photo by Jonathan Kemper on Unsplash
The Smith-Midwife
The vault of the heavens
grows brighter
with each new star-spark.
Growing from insignificant
to unfathomable,
the stars sing.
They echo the rhythm,
lyrical vibrations,
the melody of life.
These echoes resonate
with the heartbeat of the land,
a cauldron flowing with lava.
Kindred ringing of a hammer,
shaping and bending
are the birthing pangs.
The Smith swings Her tool
marking and building the form,
drawing out its divine intention.
Time and time again,
through tempering and quenching,
the creation takes on its reason.
As lava births new land,
making ripples in the sea,
so the material transforms.
The Smith is the Father,
Her hammer the Mother,
entwining with thrice-blessed potential.
A bright and shining piece,
bound together by the elements,
She admires Her work.
An arm wipes against Her brow,
another project finished,
and the cycle begins again.
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