Sekhmet Transcriptions
Rivers of red in Sekhmet waylaid thoughts waylaid only the voice hovers clouds hush not stop. Sign red not yield red not red grain or red dust of earth. But red thinking merrily intuited inside only vessels and slung and tangled and sworn Sekhmet red Sekhmet sung she ambled in vials and crystals and footsteps and whispers and never the hand waylaid never the hand but always voice entrusting heard sound read all of the memoirs of women women ruined in tethered those books we didn’t dare to touch contagion contagion ruins tatters read all the women who were not hung did not hang themselves but became became became red Sekhmet adorned by alchemy and absorbed into her and entrails released reversed unrehearsed and still not avoiding not explaining not waylaying nests in red red red Sekhmet red intuitive red intuitive intuitive she asked me for her rage thus diurnal lion daughter of Ra and drinking drinking red rivers mistaken for blood then then she slept and woke into a peace we did not imagine we did not imagine we did not imagine Sekhmet only voicing voicing threading touching enrobing embalming in resinous resinous red rubbed over the skin as curtains curtains red wrapped embalmed infrequently red voiced but never written this secret cult occult alert ink ink oxblood and sepia gold red raw sun day lion-headed Sekhmet.
Sekhmet Sekhmet borders red disc red red circle walks wakes Sekhmet blazing painted riven woven strung circles of knots suspended candles atop crown atop cobras atop cat inside flower inside crown red flying above red trees rows of foxes fox face bouquets Sekhmet walks atop drops of red ink leaves seasons seasons Sekhmet help assurance in bundles bundle and carve bundle and carve escort me down the coxcomb rose lionize and red mirrors and red rivers and red beneath the surface of streams and spines of books white rose and the red animals are nowhere everywhere Sekhmet blindly escorts me no hand no trailing articles of dust however step by further step by further step and each time she lifts her heel arise seeds red pointing their heads up up up in cabinets blisters seedpods red rose and rivers red fabrics spools of red stitched in amulet scents Sekhmet.
Sekhmet the air was like the cape or the cloak Sekhmet tugging my aura down past my wrists so it would again cloak beyond the edge of my fingertips and attach at heart chakra leaped in back of heart chakra pressed close against hips raining down over the body this invisible cloak is actual and also curtains parting curtains it isn’t just parting the curtains and rushing toward ones fear serrated yellow edges of leaves fallen departed purpose served face down decomposing not only parting the curtains but then also drawing the aura the cloak the curtain close so that it is again attached not detached from one’s fears as if they were other attached walking with this material cloak material garb cloak possibly is the title cloak made of flowers and balmy skin of air pressed close against invisible sheath of rippling aura ladysmantle cloaked protected is also in guarding pressing close what is beauty body purple purple purple berries on stalk berry beauty berry potion moving into the next season with undulating cloak of colors accompanying and detached from that caustic energy not mine unplugged given back draw the boundaries of my boundaries were always so apparently strong beneath clouds but then punctured worn down care assessed roots pulled from root chakra like so many untethered anchors tether me to the earth Sekhmet she is also red in the woods eye in the woods a blossom in search of protection with hood drawn up over iris proceed cautiously she spoke to herself and met the orange melting watery eyes endless chasms fall into that meeting of eyes will guard you gaze gaze gaze it was hers and it was hers and it was hers the gaze which held spell in gold arc cloud like motion of birds over my prone body as I lay on the table and the healer moved her hands and spun crystals and when she stepped back I could still feel the billowing billowing billowing of gold auric air.
Crown of the Solar Disc Uraeus Cobra of Protection
Eyes divine eyes, eyes in hands
Where is gaze
What am I not seeing
Keep expecting nothing
Outlive instead of outline
Marry self—also emptiness
Sleep in divine hands
Eyes cover hands
Every inch of skin
Visualize seeing
Takes strength
Colors behind eyes, islands
Red drapes and folds
How do we know we wake
What does it mean to see
Nothing can make this image right
Abandon image story
Mourn like a death
No longer for anyone but for story
I mourned the story and placed my
Self in hands covered in eyes
Slept comfortably there
To heal to gestate
I slept comfortably inside
The shell of a walnut, night after night
Toward birth fastens
A book may open and close and open
Place self in hand sewn enclosures
Sequester from certain stories
A type of bartering no human
Deserves to be abandoned
Place self in congenial place
Some questions have no place
Unwanted like limited form
I cannot think my way out or into
Future questions of eclipse
Take for example the power art couple
Arrogant alpha fear
Ego—is there a healthy
Fantasy of collaboration
Or is it only honesty
Intellect / emotion/ spirit
Success is an unnecessary object
Quest for a warm body isn’t—
Why have I asked / required so little
This habit of rushing on into speech
Resist the urge to write back
I don’t want to write that thought
Image of so and so’s hands
The point of recounting was noticing I lived in imaginary
That is my signal; if I see myself doing that
I thought thought was benign
And how to protect
Just be unflappable; don’t try to predict
Keep edifying: here, health, joy
Assuming one dead—instead
of hateful just the sentence
I have nothing to say to you
Maybe even less
What happens in the chrysalis of hands
Covered with eyes?
Akashic records, keep asking
The dropped stitch
Respond to whatever arises from
Within wholeness
Planning is for scoundrels / is it?
Calendars are for hooligans
Are they? It’s ok a little bit but don’t
Live your life inside tiny squares
Breathe now breathe and
Come into heart—chamber
Give that to oneself that thirst
Curl up on left side, just like
A hand cradles you, one hand
big enough to support an entire body
Does that mean I’m an infant?
No, held in trust
in the same way a child trusts
A hand cupped inside
Where we shelter wish
Writing is endless
Flashes of horizontal light like the waterfalls in paintings
What is sight? This is where I went
Beginning with a question, and a strategy
Of doing the work in one’s sleep
Constantly aware, in middle body
So many more eyes
Another image of middle body
Chrysalis in sleep
Write that into the novel
Sleep shift of spirit work
Sleep in hand and walk in cylinder
Learning to navigate unfamiliar landscapes
Internally and externally stay in middle body
What do I mean by covenant
And what do I know
Explore spirit through writing
Writing as ultimate unknowing
Yet it is impossible to be lost even
When lost visualize strands connecting
Even in abandonment re-center
Draw back into self subcutaneously
More cutting of cords more
Burning and redefining outlines
Blossoms, is blossoming, will blossom
Because reality is unfathomable
Not contingent—vaster
than thought, birthright
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