the most delicate of petals

The woman’s body, tuned into the natural rhythms, it ebbs and flows and changes with its own seasons. Each part of it ages, just like the leaves from spring to autumn to winter and beyond.

And like those leaves the woman’s skin becomes so very delicate, even more tender to the touch – where moisture is hard to replenish with out the scattering showers of rain

A woman’s skin turns thinner with its winter season, changing its material form to include beautiful lines like waves on the shore. Her temples her cheeks and her eye lids become like the artists pencil marks before a great work of art.

And in that sacred place, where once her babes were born, the softening of that tissue, the most elder skin copydelicate petals of the sacred rose that begin its fall to ground, with each fall remembering a time of great passion and weeps a little more.

Gentle, so gentle we must honor her, allowing only the sweetest of kisses and the tenderest of touches from one who loves deeply and understands this precious time….

And if given permission fully, that one will be taken to a palace worth remembering, for if she allows him in, he surely is a king – for no woman will allow a mere prince to dine at this table!

A woman’s body must change we know, so she is aware of that wisdom bestowed upon her and the bleeding is done, for now as she knows herself so much deeper, she knows she is holding the power, the power that only the winter can bring

Wise crone, you show us the ways of that inner world. Not through the sweet flirtations of the maiden but of her ripened truth and ancient tree of knowledge

Maybe few will understand, no matter how they try
And for sure there are those who would turn back time
Still she will come no matter the desire, for no one can turn her face
She is knocking at the door!

Her holy union now means more than any desire,
no need for erotic pleasure to sharpen her eye, that eye is sharper than any eagles, for she has come beyond that circle of soaring and has alighted to greater heights,
for now it is she who sees the world

It is she who knows this landscape
She with the inner smile, sings to the depth of her soul

About Caroline Carey

Caroline, born in 1960, grew up with a love for the wild, for nature, for animals and to dance. She wrote poetry and stories, created theater and explored the art of ritual of which she always held a fascination for. Not being of the academic type and being passionate about mystery, immagination and myth, she chose to spend her time alone with her many animals and the passion she had for ecstatic dance whether indoors or in nature. Her imagination was as wild as her life-style and by adapting the religious education insisted on by her family, she was able to recognise her own innate connection to Spirit and the spirit guides she became strongly connected to. Mothering her six, (now adult) children, Caroline has learnt the art of play, creativity, story telling and the deep surrender and unconditional love that motherhood bestows upon us.
This entry was posted in body image, caroline carey, dark night, elderhood, healing, health, menopause, middle earth medicine ways, motherhood, nature, poetry, prose, rite of passage, ritual, shamanism, spirit, Spirituality, Uncategorized, women and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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