We are vessels born from sacred earths,

carried by a great vessel floating in the sea of eternity.

We are vessels of space and time,

dancing helixes of threads.

Mother Earth, 

moments ago a mountain range,

stands before me. 

The Matriarch.

Demon dogs heel behind her, 

licking their wounds.

The Puma at her side

sways to the music of her voice.

If you pause for a moment, 

you begin to feel

the essence of what creates the resonance within you,

defining the shape you take.

As we are often entwined in the life fabric

and can never imagine how it feels 

to be the spinning spindle, 

collecting what unwinds

from our lives,

and love, 

and violence.

Pachamama, 

whom I watched birth mountains and command legions

of stone warriors awoken from their earthly chasms,

spits into the ground at her feet and mixes with her finger tips.

A gentle, caressing spiral into the wet earth.

I was reminded of tales of a man creating man

from breath and dirt.

But did he ever feel the tender touch 

a mother’s love could give?