Weaver of Hearts

Weaver of Hearts of the Dragon-Hearted Tribe

She who is the weaver balanced on the edge
Pulls each thread tight as it passes under and over
Under and over again without tangling or leaving snarls
She wraps the thread of Being in and out
of the line dividing darkness and light.

Balanced like a tight rope walker above the abyss
Of the endless void with its sparkling darkness
And the crucible of bright heat of a molten sun
Warming the bright blue fabric rippling beneath
The veil of the universe.

She who gazes with compassion at the colourful threads
Her fingers flying to gather the breath of the dragon
Weaving, over and under, the ethereal magic into the hearts
Of the brave that waver on the edge of the wide universe
Waiting and open to her ministrations.

She who is the Weaver of Hearts casts about to
Gather those souls broken perfectly open
The spirit soaring through the darkness
Keening in anguish, broken threads trailing
There is strength to mend with her flying fingers.

When She who is the weaver of hearts hears that brave call of the soul
Taking more of the dragon’s breath she threads her needle
Aiming at the rift with quick stitches making intricate patterns
Tenderly pulling the edges of the gaping wound closed
Allowing the heart to back gracefully off the edge between darkness and light

She who gathers the shadows as she weaves
Picking them carefully from the lips of the wound
Tenderly sitting each pool of tears on the rim
Ushering them after the mended heart, creating a cushion to cradle
The heart that birthed it against the next rending of the fabric of Being.

She who is the Weaver of Hearts of the Dragon Hearted
Invites those who are not afraid of teetering on the brink
To embrace their brokenness and allow the light to shine
Through the weaving that will hold it together
While never quite closing the gap of lessons learned.

Then she settles,
to watch and wait,
for your next visit
To the edge of the Universe.

Weaver of Hearts

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I live and work in a beautiful place with a river and beach and the wild west coast. Having grown up without a TV, as a family we read a lot. This lead to me writing a lot which in turn lead to a habit of writing poetry to make sense of my world. My grandmother painted. Lovely oils and water colours which she encouraged me to try. For many years I did very little, life was not conducive to creativity until came a time when life turned on its head and suddenly I found expression in creativity with the Intentional Creativity method taught by Shiloh Sophia McCloud in her Color of Women training. So here I am, writer, artist, ritual maker showing my offerings to the world.

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