Dancing with the great mother.

Smooth & cool in my hands.
I am inspired & intimidated.

Older than mankind,
I beckon her to conform to my will.

But she is composed of the ages,
she has a will of her own.

The ancients began this dance so many millennia ago,
caressing the great mother,
they implored her as they kneaded and shaped her to meet their needs.

As they created from her bosom,
figures of worship and vessels of service.

And then they waited for her answer
as they passed her through the fire.

Would their labors end as shattered fragments lying in the ash?
Or would she bless them with a token of their dance together?

And so I join the dance started so long ago,
caressing the great mother,
imploring her as I knead & shape her to meet my needs.

Creating from her bosom,
figures of worship & vessels of service.

The ancients hands become my hands and my hands become theirs.
We become one in our dance with the great mother.

And they wait with me
as I pass her through the fire.

Watching to see if she has left me with shattered fragments,
or a token of our dance together.

REB