A Hundred Gourds 5:2 March 2016

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page 7  

Autumn N. Hall – USA

Calvary — a meditation vision

as for the Lord
you must take him down
from that Cross
wrap him in a shroud
of your silver hair

All the way up that hill, I hear her words echoing, that Old Spider Woman in the cave. Half of me thinks she’s crazy, Grandmother Spider; the other half knows I am . . . then again, I can’t really think, it’s so damn HOT—flames-of-eternal-wrath hot. I’ve no idea how on earth I’m going to carry Him . . .

telling Him off
“you got yourself up there...”
the boldness
of my Truth

I can feel him in my arms now, all dust and sweat and blood. Yet underneath, strength enough to carry that crucifix—and the sins of the world besides. Here at last, a Perceval, the time for questions—necessary and unnecessary—long run out. No matter though—a woman need never ask who the Grail is.

all my life, my loves
all Wounded Kings
in pain
my own animus cries out
for the Spear

The cave is cool, more tomb than womb. Though to say so borders on heretical—each giving birth to life as they do. Grandmother Spider, who waited and still waits, with endless patience, weaves, weaves the silver strands she plucks from my bowed head. She is humming a tune which sounds a little like . . . alleluia.

no hairshirt, this shroud
atonement ends here
in Love
as it was in the beginning
is now and ever shall be

Note: Among the Southwest Puebloans and other Native American tribes, Spider Grandmother (Sussistanako or Tse-che-nako) is the Creator Goddess who wove the world into being.

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