03.22.01

Another entry brought to you by the magic of taos, and additionally the magic of Zee, just because she's Zee.

a mountain rises

within her

woman’s first primal scream

A woman is made of circles and curves. She refracts light off her surfaces, and in the intimate roundnesses of others she gathers warmth. In the wild open she doesn’t need mirrors because she is everywhere, her hips the curve of a stream, her belly a smooth sun-warmed boulder, the ripples of her back the wide strong branches of an oak tree. Woman has no need for right angles in New Mexico. Even the mountains etched against the sky are so linear that they become impossibly round. Reminders of life, of birth, are everywhere. Woman needs no mirrors here because there is nothing here that is not a part of her. She becomes a tree, a rock, a mountain, a cave. She feels cool lakewater running between her thighs. Here a woman with no mirrors disappears but she does not become invisible because she has dissolved into the very roots of herself. She is here, there, everywhere. When she cups her hands to drink from a spring, she is drinking in herself like nectar, only richer and fuller.

In New Mexico a woman needs no mirrors to show her her own beauty. The mountains the mesas the sage the soil; these are her mirrors. In New Mexico a woman can slink along like a lioness, leap like a gazelle, bound like a cheetah. She can feel the power coiled in her hips, the secret wells of creativity bubbling inside her like hot springs.

A woman walks into the deserts of New Mexico and she feels the circles in her body, feels her own beauty, and at last, at long last, she is at home.

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xoxo,

moonbird

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